


Recovery

by turtle_abyss



Series: R&R [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphasia, Coma, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Speech Disorders, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_abyss/pseuds/turtle_abyss
Summary: Tony wakes up, slowly, to a universe with a five-month headstart on recovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the first chapter of the sequel you all asked for. I had a lot of fun writing this.
> 
> Please let me know if there's a tag you think I ought to include.

There's a sound. A soft _thwik_. Infrequent enough that he can't really track its intervals. It's all he is aware of for a while. Hours maybe? Days? His head seems fuzzy, but it feels soft and he is warm and so he doesn't worry. 

He has the strangest feeling that it should worry him regardless.

But then he realizes there is warmth.

And then he realizes that it has been _so long_ since he was warm. Really, truly, genuinely warm.

He sighs just the slightest bit and sinks into that fuzziness as the infrequent _thwik_ fades away.

~~~~~~

He’s three and watching a ladybug crawl over a flower when strong arms pick him up and settle him on a hip. He fusses a bit, because he was _busy_. “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you, Tony,” say lips that are his favorite shade of racecar red -- _later he’ll tell Rhodey they’re painted with the blood of her enemies._

He likes her pretty curls and contemplates acting like other children his age and chewing on the ends even while he calculates the the curve of them. He decides not to though. It’s been a long time since he’s been carried. He likes it, but dad says it’s past time he started walking like a real man.

Auntie Peggy hums a bit and tangles a finger in one of his own curls. He kind of hopes she doesn’t decide to chew on his hair either. That would be silly.

“Someone’s quiet today. Having a thoughtful morning?” He nods into her collarbone and wishes he wouldn’t get scolded for sticking his fingers in his mouth, because he really really wants to. He supposes it wouldn’t hurt if he just pressed them to his lips? Aunt Peggy coos at him then, so he thinks he’s right.

“Well, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly happy to do all the talking. People most certainly ought to listen to me more, don’t you think darling?” He nods. He thinks she’s smarter than dad sometimes. He’d never ever say that though.

She starts a slow walk towards the garden in full bloom.

“You weren’t at my funeral, ducky.”

Cold fear flashes through him.

_Nonononono. Please. Please no, aunt Peggy._

“That’s alright,” she says soothingly. “It was rather a bore. Too much grandstanding. Too many people pretending to mourn me. All of them only mourning the idea of me.” She runs a hand through his hair casually. Just like she always used to do. He blinks back tears. “I heard that a little saying of mine ended up causing you quite a bit of pain and frustration. I’m sorry for that, dearheart.”

 _It’s not your fault,_ he wants to say.

“I always thought something was wrong about your parents’ deaths,” she says quietly, looking off into the distance. He hurts.

“They wouldn’t let me into the crash site. Wouldn’t even let me see their bodies.” She took a shuddering breath. “I should have known. I should have realized something was wrong right then. But Jonathan was a friend. And a good agent. And when he said I was too close to this, I trusted him.”

Tony buries his face in her shoulder and flexes a chubby fist against the cloth of her suit jacket.

“I should have known better. I was too proud of my creation to see all the flaws. I put too much on Steve’s memory to be alert to Hydra.” They stop beneath a magnolia tree and she holds him tightly.

“And god, Anthony, I should have done better by you. I should have been there more. We were both grieving and it wasn’t right that you had to grieve alone. I had Daniel and Angie and you were supposed to have me and I really made a right mess of things, didn’t I?”

He wants to tell her that it’s okay. That he got through it, even if he never did get over it.

But he can’t find the words.

After a long moment where they both grieve quietly, Peggy pulls herself together and walks them a few steps from the tree to a bench swing under an arch heavy with sweet-smelling wisteria. She sits them down with a huff and pulls him back to look him right in the eyes, that old familiar determination of hers flaring to life once more.

“It’s all going to be better from here on out, okay ducky?” she says to him, like she’s ready to steamroller right on over all of his problems. “The hardest part is over.”

He nods solemnly at her, fist coming back up to press at his mouth.

She smiles at him indulgently and he wonders for a moment how her teeth are so white despite her lipstick.

“Now, I believe Ana and Mr. Jarvis will be joining us shortly for our picnic, so we’d best stop all this silly sad nonsense, hmm?” Ah excellent, he can ask Ana later.

A bumblebee buzzes by and Tony is quickly distracted by wondering how its tiny wings keep it aloft.

~~~~~~

There's a sound. A low rumble and the rustle of heavy fabric. The rumbling is almost constant and something about it is soothing. The sounds seem to move around him. It makes him a little dizzy. He thinks he could make it stop but he doesn't remember how.

He breathes through the sudden and disorienting nausea until there is a strange velvety pressure on his face - _he has a face_ \- and then the rumble changes. It sounds angry? Annoyed? He doesn't know. The pressure goes away and he keeps breathing breathing breathing.

The rumble doesn't come back and it's cold and his chest hurts and his eyes hurt and he's breathing breathing breathing.

He forgot how hard it was to breathe.

~~~~~~

Stephen scolds the Cloak for messing with their guest in its perpetual attempts to wake him. Then he hears the hitch in Tony’s breathing and has to try to figure out how to get a man who could barely be considered conscious out of what he’s almost sure is a panic attack.

Then he has an idea.

~~~~~~

The colossal structures are rusted and creak ominously here on Titan. Dust billows in the wind and the sky is orange and the air pressure is off.

The doctor is sitting on the stairs. Stairs too big for any human being.

“Doc?” he tries to say, but the words seem to stick in his throat. Like the dust has settled there. Like the ghosts of this place have declared a permanent silence in their graveyard.

“Tony,” Strange says, suddenly right in front of him, with those intense eyes staring him down, “Tony, it’s okay. You’re alright.” Of course he is? He just can’t talk. How come Strange can?

“Tony, you need to breathe.” Is that why he can’t talk? Oh god. Why can’t he breathe? _Why can’t he breathe?_

“Tony!”

~~~~~~

There's a sound. A lot of sound. And it's everywhere. Everything is spinning and cold and he's breathing and the sounds get louder and there is pressure and there is pain. This isn't breathing, he thinks.

~~~~~~

It’s like the cold has taken root in his heart. Then he looks up and isn’t surprised by this. Snow drifts down to settle on his cheeks and his lashes and his lips. Into the fissure in his chest. Down into his shattered heart.

He thinks of Steve’s betrayal. Obie’s betrayal. Sunset’s betrayal.

They all seemed to have ripped his heart out, in the end.

And a thousand other, minor, betrayals. Natasha, a kind word in one ear and an undeserved rebuke in the other. Always with something sharp at hand. Thor’s large hand around his neck. Clint’s sudden derision and mocking words. Bruce’s abandonment every time he’s needed him, every time he’s tried to open up. Coulson’s lies and threats. Fury’s manipulations. Ty pretending to be his friend. So many others.

He thinks about SHIELD. About Hydra.

Dad lied.

And mom died.

But that wasn’t so unusual.

~~~~~~

There's a sound. The rumble is back. And he is warm. There is pressure on his hand. It's so warm. He listens to the rumble for a long time. The sound of it changes but when he tries to focus on it there is pain, so he stops. The rumble is nice. The changes are still nice.

He lets the warmth wash over him. Lets it sink into his bones and bloom in his heart.

He breathes and this time it's easy.

~~~~~~

Someone is singing and there is a bright light blinding him. It makes him think of the theater and the stage and the spotlight. Mom’s private recitals.

_“Sometimes getting back up is the hardest part, bambino. I know your aunt and your father think the fight is the hardest part. But sometimes it’s what comes after.”_

“M-mom?” There is a hand in his hair and there are tears springing from his eyes. Can it really be her? “Mama?”

_“Ssh. Ssh, baby. I'm so proud of you. You've done so well. It's time for you to rest now, okay? I want you to be happy. Can you do that for me?”_

He thinks he nods but all he really knows is that he's sobbing in her arms and gasping for breath and he never ever wants to let her go but he hasn't seen her yet. He tries to look but he can't see her. The light is too bright.

The light is too bright and it's getting colder and he tries to call for her but his voice is weak and he can't see and he can't stop crying.

He tries to curl up to conserve what little warmth is left in his bones and lets the words _‘I'm proud of you’_ be the kindling in his soul.

~~~~~~

Stephen is alarmed.

Tony’s hand is spasming around his and the cloak is making an effort to dry his quiet tears. He doesn't know why Tony is crying or how to make it stop. His heart hurts.

He tries shushing him and speaking to him and humming. Holds his good hand and eventually even dares to pet his hair. Tony has responded well to calm noise and passive touch before.

He doesn’t want to try the dreamwalking again. It hadn’t worked and it felt like too much of an invasion of privacy for this man who had almost none.

He hasn’t felt this helpless since he first stripped the gauntlet from his ruin of an arm.

~~~~~~

There's a sound. Lots of sound again. But it's quieter this time. Whispers, maybe. It's still a little dizzying. But this time it’s soft like a blanket and he’s still warm.

He listens for a while until he realizes all the sounds are different and come from different directions. And they all sound familiar. The rumble from before is to his right. _Always to his right_ , he thinks. A deep voice he knows in his bones is to his left. A familiar warm hand in his hair. _Rhodey. Rhodeyrhodeyrhodey. Safe._

Good. That’s good.

He lets it all fade.

~~~~~~

 _This is a nightmare this is a nightmarethisisanightmare_ , he thinks to himself desperately. The empty casing of the arc reactor scraping against the floor as he tries to drag himself to safety. The clatter of the creeper rolling away from him. Tools falling.

And then _he_ is falling.

 _Just a dream_ , he tries to tell himself as concrete becomes sand and his mouth tastes like gritty water and he must’ve dislocated his left shoulder because his arm is on _fire._

He needs to go. Rhodey is here somewhere. He needs to find Rhodey.

But the desert is so big and his arm hurts so much and he is so very tired.

Still, he gets up and moves and there’s sand everywhere and the wind starts to blow and now the sand really is _everywhere_ and then it is dark and the darkness seems like a blessing.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound. And light. The colors blur together; red and blue and brown and the sound is a voice that gets louder. The colors shift dizzyingly and then there is a hand on his cheek and he can’t quite make out what the voice is saying but the hand is warmwarmwarm.

He blinks at the pretty blue grey green eyes blurring before him. He blinks and blinks and blinks and eventually forgets to open his eyes again.

~~~~~~

There’s butterflies fucking _everywhere_. A bright electric blue that seems to glow in the night.

Maybe they are glowing.

Strange is sitting in the middle of it, a soft smile on his face as he holds a hand out to Nebula. Trying to get her to take the butterfly from his hand.

Tony takes two steps forward, towards them, before he hears laughter behind him. He turns and sees Peter and that Mantis girl chasing a large cloud of them through the tulips. Starlord and the big guy egging them on with such gentle and friendly teasing that his heart feels warmer just to hear it. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy laughing on a bench together. Somehow it feels like he hasn’t seen them smile in ages.

He looks back to Strange and Nebula just in time to see the gentle awe light her face as the butterfly crawls into her cupped hands.

His heart aches with how happy it makes him.

He doesn’t want to ruin this. He wants to stay like this forever.

But the wizard notices him and his face brightens up with a smile and he beckons him over and Tony is helpless.

He sits next to them beneath the magnolia tree and Nebula smirks and gently sets the butterfly in his hair and everyone laughs and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy in his life as in this moment.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound, but he’s ignoring it. The light seems less bright today and he is content to just lay there and look. There are a lot of colors the longer he looks. He blinks slowly. Takes it all in.

Tilting his head is hard, but he manages it after a while. There’s a blue and white bouquet next to him and a red chair to his right with a blur of blue in it. He follows the blue down a bit. Sees his hand covered with another.

It's warm.

He likes that.

A lot.

He tries to move his hand so he can hold on to that warmth, but his hand doesn’t really want to cooperate it seems. His fingers twitch and then his hand cramps and then the red and blue start moving. The movement makes him nauseous.

They move towards him and he clenches his eyes shut again. The cold in his chest starts flooding through him and he breathes breathes breathes and there are hands on his face and they are _warm_.

The red and blue are the sources of the warmth, he thinks, but he is still so _afraid_.

~~~~~~

Stephen isn’t sure if the trembling he feels is his hands or Tony. The Cloak spreads itself over their guest as though to ward off a chill, but doesn’t stop Stephen from checking Tony over.

~~~~~~

The cave is cold. Yinsen’s hands are cold. Everything is always so cold these days. It seems to seep into his heart as the battery absorbs his body heat and leaves him shivering.

Being wet made it worse. So much worse. Long moments afterwards where he couldn’t do anything but lay there and shake and cough and scream.

When he built the reactor it was better. The energy output helping to compensate for the heat being leeched away from him. But he doesn’t have the reactor right now.

Yinsen sacrifices some of his own layers to try to keep him warm. Drapes them around his shoulders for him because his fingers are too numb to get a good grip and his chest hurts too much to lift his arms.

Yinsen’s hands are cold on his chest where they tighten wires around the battery nodes, making sure they’re secure and drying them off at the same time. He can never help the way he shakes whenever someone so much as looks at the battery, let alone touches it. But he’s shaking with the cold anyway, so there’s not much to notice.

He tells Yinsen he won’t build Ultron for Obie and Yinsen just smiles and shakes his head and tells him he doesn’t need to build anything for anyone anymore. That he can be done. If he wants.

He doesn’t understand.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound. A sort of whir-click and a low electrical hum. When he opens his eyes, there’s blue and silver and then dark eyes. _Nebula._

He’s so relieved to see her.

He listens to the low, smooth rasp of her voice. Basks in her presence.

But he blinks and she’s gone and then he blinks and she’s back. She presses a straw in his mouth and he didn’t realize he was thirsty. The water is room-temperature and clean and he’s never been more grateful for how deceptively considerate she is of his triggers. Or that she even bothered to notice them.

Her wrist sparks and spasms.

The straw rattles his teeth, but she’s fast and steadies the cup with her other hand before the water can spill.

She says something to him, but his sluggish mind is already elsewhere.

Yinsen is wrong. He does still need to build things. He needs to help fix her up.

He promised her that he'd take care of her.

~~~~~~

The sky is dark above him. Heavy with rain clouds and flashing with lightning that then rumbles through his body and the ground beneath him.

The wind picks up and tears through the garden, sending leaves and flower petals swirling around him. It feels nice until he gets a mouthful of foxgloves and mangled marigolds tangled in his hair.

He spits the foxgloves out. Regrets ever letting them take root.

There shouldn’t be poison in the safest place he’s ever been.

He doesn’t have the time or the tools to go pull them up though. He needs to get somewhere safe from the rain before it can start up.

There aren’t many options though.

There’s the magnolia tree he’s under right now. But he’s likely to get dripped on.

There’s the swinging bench beneath the arch of wisteria, but if the wind changes, he’ll get sprayed.

He can’t see beyond the walls of the bushes and he can’t see a way out.

Maybe it’s _too_ safe.

So he takes his chances with the wisteria and huddles on the swing. Hopes that only three walls of bushes and an arch overhead will be enough.

He still shivers when the rain starts.

Pulls his knees to his chest and curls into them as the wind howls.

Covers his ears when the thunder booms ever louder.

There’s nothing else he can do but wait out the storm.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound. That nice rumbling voice. When he opens his eyes, it’s the warm red and blue again, except this time it’s not so blurry.

The hand in his is warm. So warm. The air is warm and sweet-smelling. The words are warm, however ludicrous they may be.

This time when he goes to hold that hand back, it cooperates. His grip isn’t strong. Not at all. But even the weakest squeeze is enough to catch his companion’s attention.

“Tony? Tony, can you hear me?”

His hearing isn’t so blurry either. That’s nice.

Tony tries to make words, but the words won’t come. So, instead, he manages to squeeze his hand again, but it leaves him trembling with weakness.

“I see,” the doctor frowns. “Can you squeeze once for yes and twice for no?”

Two squeezes, with as much of a smirk as he can manage.

Doctor Strange grins. It’s warm. It’s marvelous. He loses himself in it for a moment, only to come back because it goes away. “Tony? Are you back with me?”

Tony blinks slowly at him.

“You know, they say cats blink slowly at people they trust. I suppose that’s good news for me,” Strange says teasingly. “Are you in any pain right now?”

Two squeezes. He’s still feeling too fuzzy to register any pain. And there probably is pain if the good doctor feels the need to ask.

“Would you like me to tell you what’s happened?”

Two squeezes.

“Alright. That’s fine.” Tony thinks that perhaps the doctor is being more gentle with him than he normally would be with a patient.

There was a long awkward silence. Tony looks pointedly over at the book Strange had been reading.

“Oh, what am I reading?” One squeeze. “A compendium of ancient magical relics. I thought perhaps I should learn more about the Cloak of Levitation here. And I’m very grateful he chose me, all things considered. Because can you honestly believe that there’s a magical relic out there that summons an army of unkillable ghost bears?”

Tony feels his lips twitch up in a smile.

“Of course you have to be comfortable becoming a mindless werebear, but really who wouldn’t be?”

Tony manages a huff of air for laughter.

“The next one in the book is a dagger that’s always true and turns blood to gold, but then makes you stab yourself in the heart,” the doctor frowns thoughtfully, “You know, I’m beginning to think this is a book of cursed objects and I translated the title wrong.”

Tony does his best to smile at him.

Strange gets a strange look on his face before clearing his throat and glancing away. “Well, it's probably a good thing to learn anyway. Would you like me to read to you? I'm afraid it's a rather gruesome book though. I could go get another book if you prefer? Yes, that's probably for the-"

Tony cuts him off with as long and hard a squeeze as he can manage - which isn't much, thank goodness, because he doesn't want to hurt the man - and points shakily at the book. The doctor needn't leave for his comfort. He won't be awake much longer anyway.

It's a nice voice to fall asleep to.

~~~~~~

His workshop is safe and warm and there’s metal in his hands and he is content. He’s not sure what design he’s working on right now--it’s kind of fuzzy, probably the suit or bot repair, he remembers DUM-E had gone searching for his ball and gotten caught on something and tearing a cable--but inserting circuits and routing wiring has always been soothing. He’s been at it for a while now.

And it’s not dangerous because he hasn’t attached the explosives yet.

_Explosives?_

He stops. He looks up. The metal shell isn’t the armor. It isn’t one of his kids.

It’s the Jericho.

He jerks back and can’t get away. His left wrist is shackled to the workbench by a golden shackle crusted with his own blood.

His knees go weak and shaky and he falls back into his chair and tries to breath but everything is getting dark and his ears are ringing.

_It’s so cold._

_It’s so cold and so dark and he can’t MOVE._

It’s not his ears that are ringing.

“Tony, Tony, Tony. I’m proud of you, kiddo,” chides a familiar voice. A heavy hand falls on his shoulder. Gives him a shake and then lifts his head.

He wants to throw up.

He doesn’t even try to stifle a sob.

“You’ve outdone yourself. Look at it. Putting the balance of power back in our hands,” Obadiah whispers into his ear, one big hand holding his chin as the other gestures out beyond the workbench.

He’s surrounded by death.

Back on that godforsaken dead planet from his dreams.

The darkness of space above.

And below...

Hulk pinned down with spears. Still clawing at the ground.

The rest of his old teammates strewn around him.

The War Machine suit crushed like a soda can. He can’t think about the blood pouring from the cracks.

There’s a glint of rose gold behind War Machine and Tony doesn’t think he’s ever tried harder to shut down his brain and not think about an old hope he’d been hiding.

Obadiah turns his head to the left.

He screams.

Doctor Strange is a picture of dissected meditation. Legs crossed and back straight with a wide smile carved into his face and his hands pinned apart like a butterfly.

Empty eyes.

Accusing eyes.

Obadiah shushes him like an inconsolable child and tells him he’s not done yet.

Turns his head to the right.

“Please no,” he begs his godfather wetly. “Anything else. Please, anything else.”

Obie tuts at him, pets his hair with too big hands, and Tony gasps for breath between sobs.

“Now, Tony. You have to finish what you started. That’s how this business works. You make a plan, you cut the deal, then you _execute_.”

He snaps his fingers and it echoes hauntingly among the corroded black stone and corpses. Tony flinches.

Peter flinches too. Betrayal clear in his bruised eyes.

“Come on, Tony. There’s no need to throw a fuss like this. It’s just business. Death needs her due, kid.”

“Me,” he gasps, “Me instead.”

Obie laughs like he did that time he offered Tony his first legal drink and Tony had scoffed and reminded him that he’d already been drinking for years. It wasn’t like legality mattered.

_Chip off your old man’s block, kiddo._

“Oh Tony. If you need help, all you gotta do is ask. Haven’t I always helped you seal a tricky deal?” Obie keeps chuckling as he lets Tony’s head rest against his chest in a parody of an embrace. Takes a familiar shrapnel bomb from the workbench. Loads it into the launcher and wraps Tony’s hands over it.

Let’s his finger rest over Tony’s on the trigger.

Tony tries to fight. Tries to make his body move. But he’s completely helpless. Just like before. Just like always.

They pull the trigger.

Tony finally manages to close his eyes. Doesn’t have to watch Peter’s hyper-durable skin shred. Still has to listen to him choking on his own blood.

“Mr. St-ark,” Peter gasps.

The pain in his own chest is familiar.

“The safest hands are _mine_ ,” Obadiah says with Steve’s voice.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound. It’s him. He’s screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone. The fic kind of turned into a monster. What I thought would be a 10k fic is well over 20k now and still not done yet.  
> But I'm certainly getting there. Hope you enjoy!  
> And a shoutout to Codee21 for beta-ing this chapter. She's an absolute gem and guided me through all of the sweet, sweet medical knowledge.

He’s screaming and clawing weakly at his face with his right hand _and he can’t move his left_ and he’s sobbing and gasping for air _and he can’t move his left arm_ and he’s trying to do it all at the same time and he’s choking.

There’s a roaring and it’s all so loud, Obadiah’s laughter beating in his ears like a bass drum louder and louder, every gasp and sob are so loud _(he hates it when it’s loud),_ and then warmth around his right wrist that restrains and he doesn’t want that and then a command to breathe.

He can’t obey. He can’t. He’s hot. He’s burning. He can’t breathe.

“Tony,” he hears. He doesn’t want to hear. He’s had enough of hearing. And seeing. He’s done. He’s tired.

“Tony, you need to breathe. Focus on breathing.” No. No, he needs to - he needs to move. He needs to get away but it’s like something is holding him down. It’s soft and he’s so weak he’s always so _fucking weak._

There are hands on his head and he’s got to save his breath for the dunk but he can’t breathe and then there’s a cold feeling but just in his ear and then -

“Boss? Boss, your heart rate is all over the place. Gonna need you to take a breath.”

His baby girl sounds scared and he wants to make her not scared but he can’t. He can’t. He’s always so _helpless_. Useless.

“No? Okay. Okay. Well, while I have your somewhat divided attention, I had a question. Why do people ascribe meaning to flowers? Ms. Potts asked me to arrange a ‘Get Well’ bouquet for you and a ‘Thank You’ bouquet for the doc. But I don’t really understand the difference?”

Flowers? What?

“I asked DUM-E and he said the purpose of flowers is to be pretty and would not elaborate further.”

God, his firstborn was such a little shit.

“Wikipedia seems to indicate that flowers are used as a form of cryptography, but after collating data from various floral and gardening websites, many flowers possess conflicting meanings.”

He was sure he’d taught her better than to trust Wikipedia.

“For example, one website claims that yellow chrysanthemums declare the receiver precious to the giver, but another says that they represent a slighted love.”

He wants to tell her that people don’t really talk like that through flowers anymore. That meanings tend to be decided by personal experiences. And allergies.

“And I’ve noticed that Queen Anne’s Lace is included in almost all bouquets and I wasn’t wondering why but I think I’ve found the answer anyway. It stands for sanctuary and protection. Speaking of, Doctor Strange calls this place the Sanctum and I’ve been trying to convince him to plant some around the place for the last two days, but he says that magic doesn’t work like that. How does magic work? I’ll ask him later.”

He focuses as much as possible on what she’s saying to drown out Obadiah’s laughter. And it works. It works.

“Back to flowers, I remembered that a bunch of people had sent you marigolds on several occasions since I was brought online. The first website I looked at said marigolds stand for passion and creativity and the sun, which is really nice of them. But then all the subsequent websites said they stand for pain and grief. I thought it was just because they were red and gold like the armor.”

Yeah, he’d thought that too.

“Oh, good. You’re breathing is much better,” she says, startling him with the change of topic. “I was worried, boss. That seemed….really bad.” She sounds so small. He’s abruptly reminded that she is still very young. God, his baby doesn’t deserve this.

“Oh no. Don’t start that,” comes a much deeper voice. Definitely lacking an adorable Irish lilt. He opens his eyes.

Strange is wearing his glasses.

He looks ridiculous.

Nightmare mostly forgotten, he can’t hide the creeping grin and he definitely can’t suppress a snicker at the look of irritation that flashes over the doctor’s face.

“Your daughter insisted,” Strange drawled.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“She’s very persuasive.”

He hopes his face shows how skeptical he is of that statement. Strange just sighs and removes them, rubbing at his eyes. That’s when Tony notices that Strange is in what is presumably his sleepwear -- worn cotton pants and a t-shirt. He looks exhausted. The guilt starts to crawl down the back of his throat to constrict his heart.

Strange thwaps him on the nose with his own damn glasses.

“No.” The stern look on his face stopping his overactive brain in its tracks. Tony feels a creeping nervousness as Strange stares him down for several long moments. And then finally, he gives a satisfied hum and swiftly leaves his chair for a bookshelf in the corner.

“I started researching the dreamscape shortly after you began waking and it became evident you were suffering from nightmares,” he calls back as long, elegant fingers trail over leatherbound covers. He pulls one out and returns to his chair with a solemn expression. Setting the book aside, he faces Tony.

“I need to apologize to you.” Tony felt that nervousness that had been fading return with a vengeance. “Several weeks ago you seemed to have a nightmare and had what appeared to be an anxiety attack without fully regaining consciousness. I was concerned with your recovery and thought it prudent to try to disrupt your dream and calm you down. It,” here Strange sighs heavily and briefly looks at his feet before forcing himself to face Tony once more, “It did not go well. I acted hastily without a full understanding of the nature of dreamwalking and more importantly, I did so without your knowledge or consent. I’m sorry.”

Tony doesn’t know what to think about that.

Strange was in his head. Trying to help. But in his head. He had no way of asking for consent. Tony had been unconscious. And it’s not like Tony had ever really taken friendly magic into account when determining what medical interventions his medical proxies were and weren’t allowed to authorize. And he and Rhodey and Pepper and Happy had really gone to town on that subject. But someone had been in his head _again_.

Strange gives him the time to think, which is a point in his favor. And he admitted to what he’d done when Tony probably would never have known. So two points for Doctor Strange. And it seems like the good doctor has been caring for him as well, considering Tony doesn’t recognize the room. So three points. Or maybe four.

Tony sighs mentally and closes his eyes. The doc seems like a good guy. And he’s been very straightforward with him. Maybe...maybe forgiving him for this wouldn’t be so bad.

Next to him, he can hear Strange sigh. “I really am truly sorry.” Then the sorcerer reaches out to briefly squeeze his hand. “I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Tony catches his hand as he goes to stand. Gives it a gentle squeeze. He hopes his face conveys his forgiveness. He thinks maybe Strange gets the message when his sorrowful expression shifts to something soft and warm and inexplicably…fond.

His heart stutters. It's a good look on his face.

“Thank you,” Strange murmurs, clasping Tony's hand gently between both of his. His hands are so warm.

Tony dreams of kind eyes.

~~~~~~

_Kind eyes._

_Sad eyes._

_“Tony, it was the only way.”_

_What was…?_

_Oh god._

~~~~~~

He wakes up to the smell of hibiscus flowers, soft hands, and pretty strawberry-blonde hair.

_Pepper._

“Hey Tony,” she whispers, eyes starting to get teary. He squeezes her hand and finds his grip surer than last time.

She huffs out a laugh and squeezes back, wiping at her eyes with her other hand. “Stephen told us you’d woken up, but I didn’t really believe it,” she told him, her voice all choked up. “You’ve been asleep for a while, y’know. You’re lucky Rhodey went to go get food or he’d be smothering you right now.”

Tony kind of looks forward to it. Rhodey is the uncontested best at smothering.

“I brought you some things,” she says softly, wetly. “Clothes, phone, tablet. Stephen keeps those glasses you hooked up to FRIDAY on the nightstand, if you need her.”

There’s a moment of silence. Sort of awkward. Pepper doesn’t seem to know what to say and conversation no longer comes easily to Tony. Nevertheless, he’s content to stare in her direction and let his mind drift until she finds whatever words she wants to say.

“Rhodey and Nebula have some ideas for your hand, by the way. Whenever you’re ready.”

His hand?

He looks down at where she holds his hand but nothing seems to be wrong, even if he’s a little bonier than he remembers. His brows furrow and he turns his head to the left. His other hand is wrapped in bandages. It feels heavy. And tingly. It doesn’t respond when he wills it to move.

He’s dimly aware that Pepper is talking to him.

But his hand won’t move. He can’t even feel the bandages. What happened? What’s wrong with him?

Pepper's dainty hand reached forward.

_Big golden fist flying through the air. Pain. Over. And over. And over._

His chest hurt. Was he breathing?

“Tony!”

One breath.

“That's right. Breathe.”

One more.

“You're alright, Tony. It's alright.”

God, he was so tired.

“You're going to be alright.”

The exhaustion pulled him under.

~~~~~~

Pencil on paper and furious foot tapping and pages flipping. The occasional mutter. Probably math. Or worse, English.

There’s the sound of a book thumping closed and a frustrated whine he’s only heard a few times before.

He opens his eyes to fluffy, brown hair and a distraught expression that’s quickly hidden behind hands. It’s good to see Peter. Alive. Healthy. Surrounded by the school papers he’s spread across the left side of the bed.

“It’s not right,” the kid mutters to himself, tugging at his own hair and throwing the closed book a disgusted look.

Tony spies a blue cover and the words _‘To Kill A Mockingbird’_ and understands. He shifts his left arm - bandaged, tingly, the hand still not responding - in an attempt to nudge Peter out of his funk. Just the barest hint of movement alerts Peter, though, and he’s leaping from his seat to come stand closer to Tony’s head.

“Mr. Stark!” he shouts joyfully, fretfully. Goes to give him a hug and then freezes and flinches back, like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

“Mr. Stark,” he says again, quietly this time, happy tears in his eyes even as he wrings his hands, “It’s so good to see you awake. I was worried you wouldn’t ever, even though Doctor Strange said you would. Said you did! But I thought I’d hang out and do my homework here for a while, just in case you did. Doctor Strange had some research to do anyway and he said the book is finicky - finicky books, can you believe it? Anyway, I was just reading To Kill A Mockingbird for my English class - and did you know it’s impossible to plagiarize any essay on it now because it’s been so written to death? - and I don’t really like it much? It’s like they’re all saying something different from what they’re saying and it’s kind of confusing and they killed Tom!”

Here that distraught look returns. “The jury just convicts him even though all the evidence says he didn’t do it and they don’t like that Ewell guy anyway, so it’s not even about ‘his good name’ or some other garbage. And I know it’s a period piece and it’s a reflection of the truth of the time and all, but it’s awful! How could anyone call themselves a good person after that? And the way everyone else -”

“Kid,” Tony croaks, and Peter immediately jumps to get him the glass of water on the nightstand. He reminds Tony of the kid in the book - young and smart and horrified by the ways of the world. Tony hopes he can keep him that way just a little longer.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark! I know it’s just a story. You probably don’t wanna hear all that right now. Doctor Strange told me-”

“Kid,” Tony tries again, but the words he wants to say won’t come out. Peter goes oddly still as Tony gets more and more frustrated and the fearful concern on his face only grows.

“I’m gonna go get Dr. Strange,” Peter says quietly, turning on his heel and racing out the door, checking back over his shoulder one last time as though Tony will do something unreasonable. He’s gone before Tony can even try to tell him not to bother Strange.

Getting Strange doesn’t take long at all. But where Peter continues to look freaked out, the doctor is calm and composed. His gaze is steady as he sits beside where Tony lies. Tony itches to be able to sit up.

“Tony. Good to see you awake again.”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause where Tony just stares at him. He just wants what is bound to be a small battery of medical tests over with.

“Right. So Peter says you’re having issues talking? One squeeze for yes, two for no, if you can’t say the words,” Strange says as he takes Tony’s right hand in his.

Tony bites his lip, takes a deep breath, and gives a single squeeze.

“Alright. Are you understanding me just fine?”

One.

“Has my grammar seemed off at all?”

“No,” Tony manages to bite out.

Strange smiles, just the slightest bit. “Good.”

And then Strange just keeps talking to him. Asking the occasional question, making sure he understands what he’s saying, sometimes requesting that Tony attempt to repeat something. There’s even one point where he pulls a stack of pictures from thin air and asks Tony to arrange them into a narrative sequence. All the while, Peter hovers anxiously in the background seemingly fascinated and terrified in equal measure. He seems to draw on Strange’s calm some though. Or maybe it’s just the presence of a more capable adult.

Regardless, it’s not nearly as long as Tony thought it would be before Strange seems satisfied.

“Broca’s aphasia,” he says matter-of-factly. And possibly more for Peter’s benefit than his own, because Tony has no doubt the kid will go home and research everything the good doctor says. “It’s a form of speech difficulty that inhibits communication, but not comprehension, and caused by damage to the Broca area of the frontal lobe.”

“Brain damage?” Peter shouts, state of alarm rising back to previous levels. Tony would be concerned if he weren’t feeling the same alarm.

“We’d need an MRI to be certain, but I believe this is likely a side effect of your use of the infinity stones. Much like your coma was.” Strange’s tone is reassuring, but Tony would really like his brain healthy and intact thank you very much.

“Regardless of the cause,” he continues insistently, “Broca’s aphasia has an excellent recovery rate. The most important factor being that you keep _trying_ to speak.”

Tony nods along, but his mind is starting to drift inwards. The ramifications of not being able to talk pile up, even as Peter starts in on his own pointed questions.

Strange notices, but seems to take it for tiredness. Which is also true, but he’s still grateful when the doctor pulls Peter towards the door.

“The gauntlet and the power of all six infinity stones overloaded his system is all, Peter. Just like his coma, this is merely another symptom. It’s nothing to worry about overmuch. We’ll keep an eye on it, but I’m certain that, with time, Tony will recover his full speech capability.”

The assurance isn’t meant for him, but Tony is grateful all the same.

“But Mr. Stark will be alright?”

“Yes, Peter. Now go home. It’s getting late.”

Peter still looks uncertain as he and Strange disappear into the hallway.

Tony tries to put it out of his mind though. He’s just relieved to see the kid alright. And Strange will keep an eye on him, he’s sure, since Tony himself is in no condition to do so.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to mentor the kid when he can hardly speak.

Whether he actually wants to speak or not is irrelevant really. As much as he would like to take a break, breathe, relax, maybe disappear from the world, he’s got too many responsibilities.

“Are you alright?” comes from his right and he startles.

He didn’t notice Strange get back.

He wants to say he’s fine. That he’s always fine. But it’s not even the aphasia that keeps him from the words as much as it is him being tired of the lie.

“Silly question, I suppose,” the wizard says wryly, conjuring up a cup of tea for himself. “I wasn’t lying to Peter by the way. It may take a bit more work than I suggested but I truly do believe you’ll make a full recovery.”

 _Except for the hand_ , goes unspoken.

“And you’ve got time, I hope you know. The world is already well underway with rebuilding. James has an excellent hold on the Avengers and Pepper is doing splendidly with Stark Industries. Humanity is at a high point. Everyone is chipping in and cooperating and I hear Miss Romanov is taking care of those who are being a hindrance. Though I dare not ask how.”

Tony nods. That Strange mentions Nat having to take care of problems makes him almost willing to believe the world is actually doing as well as he says. He’s not sugar-coating it for Tony’s sake.

Strange talks about the state of the world for a bit longer. Then goes into exercises they can do to build up Tony’s speech again.

Tony thinks they might have continued long into the night if not for his persistent exhaustion that Strange is dedicated to tending.

He doesn’t ponder much on what an excellent conversationalist the wizard has turned out to be as he drifts to sleep.

~~~~~~

Stephen doesn’t tell anyone that he privately fears Tony may never fully recover. That he suspects the years and years of mental trauma have finally reached a boiling point that will further hinder whatever recovery Tony makes.

There’s no need to worry everyone. Tony will be cared for regardless.

And who knows. Tony has pulled through impossible odds before.

~~~~~~

He wakes and can’t help a soft sound of pain.

It’s not his left arm, but his chest.

Sometimes he thinks it will always be his chest.

“It’s raining,” Stephen says quietly.

Tony takes that in, surprisingly unstartled. A glance to his right reveals Strange’s scarred hands resting on a hot water bottle, pale face looking wan. Yet despite the clear pain he was in, he withdraws one violently trembling hand from its resting place and with a complex gesture, conjures another hot water bottle that he arranges on Tony’s chest where Tony hadn’t realized he was rubbing absently.

Almost instinctively, Tony reaches out to take that shaking hand as it returns to its resting place and Stephen indulges him. There’s no indication that Tony is hurting him, so he’s oddly content to stay that way in the quiet of the rain.

He’s curious though.

Tony taps the back of Stephen’s hand with his thumb with an inquiring look and rubs at a reddish scar gently.

“Car accident,” Stephen answers with a rueful smile, “My own fault.”

Stephen hadn’t been in the hero business as long as Tony had, but Tony wondered if he was just as tired.

There isn’t anything to be done about Tony’s pain beyond hot water bottles and the occasional ibuprofen anymore, but he wonders if there isn’t something he could do for Stephen.

A brace of some sort maybe, he thinks as he takes Stephen’s hand gently, contemplatively, in his own. He’ll have to make adjustments for fine motor control. The details slip in his head like beads of oil scattering across water, though. And the task of gathering them all together is much too tiring right now.

It’s fine.

He has time.

~~~~~~

There’s a breach between dimensions and  _something_ has gotten loose where it does not belong. Taking care of it shouldn’t require more than a few days. He lets the others know so that they can arrange to be with Tony. He also lets them know that he’s telling Tony he’s going to Kamar Taj for a few days to sort out some students.

Stress isn’t something he wants to put on Tony and he gets the feeling the truth would most assuredly cause that.

“You’re distracted,” Wong says blandly. It would sound like an accusation if Stephen didn’t know Wong so well by now.

“I’m not,” he still denies stubbornly.

“You are,” Wong argues, but leaves it at that.

It’s really unfair how effective a tactic the silent treatment is.

Stephen lets a frustrated sigh.

“Fine. Yes. I am distracted. Though not so much I can’t _do my job._ ”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“The implication seemed obvious,” Stephen grumbles scornfully, turning away to start up a tracking spell.

“What haven’t you told me about what happened with Thanos?”

“I’ve told you everything about Thanos,” Stephen denies absently, the sigil he’d made giving him nothing. There must be a better spell for tracking things.

“You told me you used the time stone to find a future where we won.”

“And I did.”

“How many futures did you see? How many did we win?”

“Does this really matter?” Stephen asks, whirling around to face Wong, his temper sparking.

“How many times did you die, Stephen?”

It stops him cold. He doesn’t answer.

“And how many times did Stark die?” Wong asks gently. Stephen swallows hard. “Stephen.”

“All of them,” Stephen answers hoarsely. “He died in all of them.”

“And how long did it take for you to fall in love with him?”

“What’s your point, Wong?”

Wong sighs deeply.

Stephen waits.

“I worry about the effect that seeing multiple horrific futures has on you. Despite your relative physical youth, your mind is now older than any other human being on earth. And dying so many times can’t be good for you.”

“I’m fine. It...has its effects. But I’m handling it.” Handling it is a bit of an overstatement, but Wong doesn’t need to worry unnecessarily about his nightmares. There’s nothing to be done about them anyway.

“I’m your friend, Stephen. I don’t want to see you unhappy,” Wong says gently. “For all that the Ancient One seemed at peace with her lot in life, she was not a _happy_ woman. Please don’t follow so closely in her footsteps. Allow yourself to be happy. Myself and the rest of the order are here to support you.”

Stephen breathes deeply. For all that he appreciates Wong’s friendship and concern, he’s beginning to chafe under all of the emotional exercise he’s gotten these last few weeks.

“Yes, yes. Alright. I’ll do my best,” he gripes sarcastically, “Now can we track down this thing already?” He tries the sigil again and watches it fizzle dishearteningly.

 _This is going to be a long trip_.

~~~~~~

It’s dark.

And cold.

It’s dark and it’s cold and _they left him here._

……..

 _He_ left him here.

He can’t move.

He sobs and it hurts and the arc reactor stays dead in his chest.

The shards of ice stay dead in his chest.

The wind howls and drowns out the screams he can’t give voice to.

The shadows on the walls taunt him.

Five shadows.

_‘Do you plan on helping out?’_

_‘Not if you don’t leave.’_

_‘They’re coming for you.’_

_‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?’_

_‘That shield doesn’t belong to you! You don’t deserve it.’_

His own words haunting him now.

He’d needed them.

He’d wanted them.

But no matter what he’d said, they still left.

Nothing but shadows dogging at his heels.

Holding him back. Dragging him down.

And then one of the shadows steps out from the wall.

The crunch of snow under lightweight combat boots - a US size 10 reinforced with a custom titanium alloy.

The ring of that _goddamned_ _shield_ scraping against icy concrete.

He shudders.

Steve sits beside him in the snow, hefting his shield back onto its harness - sturdy leather from his favorite tanner and three hours shaping out buckles without flaw.

He looks sad.

Tony doesn’t fucking care how fucking _sad_ he is. (That’s a lie. He’s always cared. He’s always cared so goddamn much.)

“It didn’t have to be this way, Tony,” Steve says.

And no, it didn’t. It didn’t.

Maybe if Steve hadn’t lied. Maybe if Steve hadn’t screwed _everyone_ over.

Tony hates him. Hates this apparition so much he nearly manages to drag a scream out from between his bloodied teeth.

And yet...

The howl of the wind outside shifts to screaming.

He can hardly tell the difference.

~~~~~~

Tony startles awake, shaking. From fear or cold, he isn’t sure. Doesn’t even know if the cold is real or in his head. Looks around wildly and feels instantly safe when he sees Rhodey. And disappointed. He doesn’t know why.

Rhodey, beside him, places a hand on his arm and doesn’t look at him. Just waits. Tony closes his eyes and struggles to get his breathing back under control. Tony is so so grateful that Rhodey is his friend. That Rhodey stayed. That Rhodey has survived being his friend all these years.

“Nightmare?” Rhodey finally asks to break the silence. Tony nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Cap,” Tony manages raspily. Rhodey’s eyes go sad.

“He’s gone, Tones,” Rhodey says.

“I know.” He wishes words weren’t so hard now. Wishes he could tell Rhodey that it’s not about that. Or at least not all about that. “Still.”

Rhodey frowns. He regards Tony thoughtfully. “Still scared?”

Tony closes his eyes and takes in a shuddering breath. Rhodey always did know him best.

“It’s okay to still be afraid of him, Tony. He hurt you.” Rhodey sighs and looks away. “He hurt a lot of people,” he says after a pause, so quietly that Tony is sure he was not meant to hear.

He reaches out with his good hand to squeeze Rhodey’s wrist.

“He was a complicated guy,” Rhodey continues, “And it’s okay for us to still be conflicted about him. He was a good guy who did some shitty things and we were there to see both sides of him.”

“Wish,” Tony tries. He wished so many things. That he’d only ever gotten to see the good side - so that he wouldn’t have been hurt or so that he’d be able to grieve Steve fully. That Steve hadn’t gone the way he had - one last sacrifice that Tony still wasn’t sure was for the people or just for Barnes. Or maybe it had been for himself. Steve had never really known what to do with himself outside of a fight. Tony wished he had tried harder to make Steve feel less lost in time. Maybe then he wouldn’t have struggled so much between selflessness and selfishness. Maybe then things wouldn’t have gone so wrong.

“Yeah, well, if wishes were horses, Tones,” Rhodey says lowly and that’s when Tony hears the first quiver his friend’s steady voice. “I don’t think it’s disrespectful to his memory to still be hurt by his actions. He did what he did and we’re the ones who have to live with it. For better or worse.”

Tony feels tears slide down his cheeks.

“Aw, Tones.” Rhodey slides an arm beneath him and pulls him up into a careful hug.

Tony tucks his nose into Rhodey’s collar and cries.

It’s so cold.

~~~~~~

Tony wants out of bed. Pepper’s not so sure he should be getting up and about just yet, but Rhodey thinks it’s important he start working on his atrophied muscles sooner rather than later. Pepper’s not so sure about that either.

Stephen isn’t due back for another two days at least, so Pepper calls Christine.

Christine very firmly vetoes more than just standing today.

Tony is displeased.

“Listen, I don’t know what magic Stephen did to keep your body in as good of shape as it currently is and I don’t know how well that’s managed to stave off the atrophy of your muscles. So for today, we’re gonna get you sitting up on your own. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get you standing too.” She says all of this with her hands on her hips and a terrifyingly stern expression that could go toe-to-toe with Pepper’s any day.

Tony still looks rebellious. Christine pokes his shoulder.

“Do not even think about walking without one of us around.”

There’s a threat implied, but not specified and it makes him nervous. Specific threats can be dealt with. Unspecified, nebulous threats….well, he doesn’t have a great track record with those.

So Christine gets him sitting up and gets his left arm into a sling just in case. She is very careful not to react when Tony pulls the fleece at the foot of the bed to him and then struggles to pull it around himself single-handedly. Behind him, Rhodey’s expression is pained.

Then she turns to start pulling ribbons of rubber from the large duffle she’d brought along.

“Resistance bands,” she comments offhandedly, pulling them apart and sorting them by color and length. “I’m going to set you up with some very basic exercises to do with these. You will be doing them _at least_ four times a week. Unless Stephen tells you to stop.”

She pauses with a handful of green bands to stare him down.

“I’ll be calling Stephen every week for updates,” she says firmly. She’s claiming him as her patient now. Stephen can just be her consultant on the whole magical-relic-burned-into-arm bit.

She’ll have to swing by after he gets back to tell him that. His face will be priceless.

Christine is helping Tony stand on shaking legs when her hand brushes his bare wrist and she notices how chilled he feels. He’s still holding tight to the blanket around his shoulders despite his relative exertion, so he really shouldn’t be cold. She resolves to bring it up with Stephen when he gets back.

~~~~~~

He dreams of a night in a hospital, nearly a year after his parents died.

Rhodey holding his hand, crying.

He’d ignored everything, then. Or maybe he’d been crying too.

It’s all a bit fuzzy.

Probably for the best, really.

~~~~~~

His body aches and he gets tired so easily.

Rhodey stays with him most times. Even spends the night.

Still holds his hand, sometimes.

But it’s hard now.

It’s so hard to talk with him. It’s so hard to face the sadness in his expression.

Rhodey loves him. He knows it. And he knows it hurts to look at him now. To see the wreck that’s left after everything.

He’s grateful when Rhodey has to leave for Avengers business. Even if it means Pepper will be there. Not that he doesn’t love Pepper. She just wears her emotions more openly than Rhodey. Even if he knows them both well enough to know what they’re feeling even when they’re hiding it.

And there’s so much he doesn’t quite remember now. Or at least it seems that way.

He remembers Thanos, but so much after that is just a blur with fleeting distinct moments.

And before that is choppy.

Pepper had said they had an on-again moment before Thanos attacked, but wouldn’t elaborate further and he had a feeling FRIDAY was screening his search functions.

Happy had said something about Peter and churros that had clearly been some sort of inside joke.

It makes him miss Stephen.

Stephen didn’t look at him with pity and Stephen didn’t know him before Thanos.

They’ve only just been getting to know each other since he woke up. His companionship calm and sure and uncomplicated.

They could be quiet together and it didn’t make either of them anxious. Stephen understood his nonverbal cues and didn’t seem to mind having a more one-sided conversation.

Probably talked to himself a lot in this big empty house, the poor bastard.

Admittedly, he hasn’t seen much of the house. Just the entryway, this room, and the hallway he’d been allowed to walk to. He’d been stealing blankets from the closet down the hall ever since.

But while there was a possibility there were others here, it seemed unlikely. Stephen had said he needed to go teach at their headquarters in Nepal.

He wondered why Stephen was all the way out here, seemingly alone, when they clearly trusted him enough to keep the Time Stone. He was powerful and capable and it just seemed like he should be leading things in Nepal.

So why…?

He shook his head.

He could ask Stephen when he got back.

In the meantime, he tugs his blankets tighter around himself and levers himself up. Pepper had needed to use the bathroom and if he hurried he might be able to make it to the end of the hallway and go explore before she caught him and stuck him back in bed.

He hadn't gotten to see much of the magic mansion before. And while its master is out should be the perfect time to learn more about these mystery mages.

“TONY!”

...If Pepper doesn't stop him first, that is.

~~~~~~

“Mindless Ones. It just had to be Mindless Ones,” he hears grumbled from downstairs during his daily ‘exercise’ to steal blankets. Tony is surprised at the amount of relief that comes with the realization that Stephen is back.

He straightens the blanket around his shoulders - a fluffy deep blue he’d stolen off of a bed down the hall from him - and very carefully picks his way down the stairs.

It’s exhausting and he hates how weak he’s become.

So he grits his teeth and keeps going. Shakily steps across the entry hall to lean against the wall for support as he follows Stephen’s frustrated grumbling.

“Tracking spell works fine, my ass,” he hears Stephen complain from the little reception area off to the side of the entrance.

Tracking spell?

Stephen startles as Tony rounds the doorway.

Tony stumbles to a halt at the sight of Stephen half-dressed and trying to bandage himself. The black and blue bruising climbing his chest is damning.

His initial flash of concern is rapidly overtaken by the realization that those kinds of bruises are unlikely to be caused by students. Even magical ones.

“Tony, you should be resti-” Stephen starts, but Tony’s pretty sure that’s not the discussion that needs to be happening.

“You say left to Hogwarts!” he very nearly shouts, too angry to cringe at the words coming from his mouth.

“I- Yes. And I did,” Stephen flounders and Tony watches his eyes dart away and knows he’s lying.

Tony clenches his one fist that will actually move and stomps toward Stephen. “Lie. Stupid,” he hisses angrily, settling on a footstool nearby and manhandling his bandages as best he can with one hand.

“I- You don’t need to help me with this, Tony.”

“Shut.”

“I can-”

“No. No lies. Tired.” Tired of the lies, he means. Though he is physically tired as well. But that can wait. This...This is...

“Tony,” Stephen tries, settling a hand over Tony’s. “Tony, I still have a job to do.”

“Need lie?” Tony hisses, mouth twisting derisively.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Stephen admits, hanging his head with a sigh.

“Worry?” Tony spits, tugging his hand away. “Worry!” Like that makes the lie _all better_.

“Stress isn’t good for you right now,” Stephen insists, “You need a calm and stable environment to promote healing.”

“Calm,” Tony scoffs. “St-st-Not shake.” He groans in frustration and tugs at his hair like that will make his brain cooperate with his mouth.

“Tony?”

Tony ignores him. Stupid doctor and his stupid concern. He’d thought they were friends. He can’t do friends lying to him again.

“Tony, I’m sorry. I genuinely didn’t want to cause you any undue stress,” Stephen pleads, hesitantly reaching out to try to keep Tony from harming himself.

“Undue?” Tony roars, rearing away from Stephen. “Undue?” he growls again, gesturing sharply at Stephen’s bruised chest and then up at his black eye.

“It wasn’t supposed to be an overly difficult job,” Stephen says.

“And?”

“And we had a complication, but Tony, I’m _fine,”_ Stephen continues to insist.

“Fine,” Tony repeats flatly.

“Yes, Tony, I’m fine.”

Tony turns on his heel and does his best to stomp out of the room despite the crushing exhaustion that starts to weigh on him as the anger fades.

“Don’t lie,” he sighs on his way out.

“Ah- Tony, wait!” Stephen calls after him. Tony hears a bang and a curse, but focuses on just getting up the stairs.

It’s so much harder than it should be.

Step, lift, step, lift, step, lift.

Except lift doesn’t want to happen. Instead, his foot catches on the edge of a stair and he goes crashing forward, his grip on the railing not enough to stop his fall.

His eyes water.

It hurts.

He’s not sure he wants to get up.

“Tony!”

Gentle hands turn him over and get him sitting. Stephen’s expression a mix of fear and concern and regret.

“Are you alright?”

 _“Fine,”_ Tony answers shortly, not looking at him even as he leans heavily against him.

“Tony, please. I’m sorry. I just-” Stephen sighs, “I don’t want to cause you any more suffering than I already have. It...It was a poor move on my part. I should know better by now.”

“No lies,” Tony requests tiredly. Christine was probably right that he shouldn’t be attempting the stairs just yet.

“No lies,” Stephen agrees.

~~~~~~

The days pass. His words come and go. He doesn’t leave the Sanctum. Stares at holograms and just feels tired.

Pepper tells him to take a break. Rest, recover, recharge. They have plenty of backup inventions in Tony’s tinker stash and even more brilliant scientists on payroll.

“Let them have the spotlight for now,” Pepper teases. She considers it a test of how well SI can stand without him.

Rhodey insists that he not only deserves a break, but desperately needs one. There are more superheroes than ever now and they can fill the gap he leaves for as long as he needs.

“You’ve been at 110% for _years_ now, Tones,” Rhodey says. He’s already got the infrastructure in place to keep going without him as far as the Avengers go.

Happy brings Peter and May by with a few casserole dishes. He overhears May telling Stephen that he’s just got too much on his plate right now - what with the magic threats and watching Tony and occasionally helping the Avengers - and she wants to help take some of the burden (because that’s what he is now, right?) from his shoulders.

“You and Tony are a lot alike, doc. Trying to do everything yourselves. Let us help,” Happy says. It might be directed at Stephen, but Tony feels that dig all the same. Happy is still upset that Tony started being so much more careful with him after the Extremis explosion.

 _‘Let us help,’_ Tony hears and thinks, _‘Yes. I should be helping.’_

People used to rely on him.

Not so much anymore.

He sits by the big window a lot now that he’s mobile. Thinks himself in circles.

He knows Stephen watches him.

He knows Stephen worries.

They all worry.

He just...doesn’t have the energy to do much else.

But he likes when Stephen sits with him.

~~~~~~

Pepper comes by with two travel mugs in hand one afternoon, smelling of chocolate and flowers.

“He’s upstairs with Rhodey,” Stephen says absently from the pile of books he has built around himself in the library. He has an idea about world shielding, but Wong has told him the texts he’s looking for were lost with the Library of Alexandria and he’s having to go through each bit of theory to build the spell from scratch.

“I know,” Pepper says with a fond smile he doesn’t see. He does, however, see her kick off her heels and settle down into the assortment of cushions next to him.

He closes his book with a careful mark of his place and an inquisitive noise. One does not simply ignore the company of Pepper Potts.

“I was wondering how you were holding up,” she answers simply, placing one travel mug near his knee.

“I’m well.” Picking up the mug is a task he manages with support from the Cloak, his hands tired after so long flipping through heavy tomes and holding old scrolls open. He’s grateful for a lack of fumbling transfer. Pepper truly is wise and kind.

“Mmhmm. I just worry about you all alone in this big old place,” she teases with a charming quirk to her lips.

Stephen lets out a quick breath of laughter. “But I’ve got Tony,” he says with a smile.

Pepper laughs but her face quickly goes somber. She mulls over her mocha and Stephen sips at the delightfully caffeine-rich tea she’s brought him.

“He’s different,” Pepper finally says.

“That really goes without saying,” Stephen replies. It’s a deflection and they both know it.

“I mean, I knew he would be. But it’s so strange to see him so quiet. So...withdrawn. He was like this after Afghanistan, but it was more...purposeful. He had _drive_ back then. Now it’s like,” she trails off.

“Like he’s finally accomplished what he set out to do and now he’s untethered. Unmoored.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why he needs us to be his anchors.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a long while. It’s comfortable.

“He’s struggled with depression on and off for years now,” Pepper finally says quietly. “Even before Afghanistan.”

This doesn’t surprise him, but he keeps quiet.

“I knew that with everything that’s happened, that when he woke up it would be bad. But I didn’t expect this.”

“He’ll be alright, Pepper. He’s stronger than anyone gives him credit for.”

Pepper laughs, but softly, maybe even a little sadly. “Anyone except you, maybe. You knew he’d beat Thanos. You knew he’d wake up. And even now, you’re telling me he’ll get better. I...I hate to say it, but I’ve had my doubts.”

Stephen shakes his head and sets his tea aside to take one of her hands in his. “Pepper. You are not a mountain. You’re human. And you’re not a priest, who’s meant to have unshakeable faith. You’re a good friend. Even if you doubted him, you never stopped _caring_ about him. And the caring is what matters, trust me.”

It took him far too long to learn that lesson. Longer than Christine had deserved.

Pepper sighs and settles against his side with her mocha and he goes back to his books and his tea.

“You’re a good friend, Stephen,” she whispers.

He ducks his head to try to hide his smile and tucks this moment and those words into a particularly treasured place in his memory. He feels warm for the rest of the week.

~~~~~~

It’s one of those days when Stephen sits with Tony, that he decides maybe they don’t need to sit in silence. Maybe Tony could know him as well as he knows Tony.

After all, Tony doesn’t have the advantage of time travel. It’s only fair, really.

“After the accident, I was adrift,” Stephen starts. He doesn’t know why this is the subject he broaches, but the words are out there now. Tony watches him and there is no judgment. Stephen swallows and continues, “Christine tried to help, but...I loved surgery. I was desperate to have my life back. I wasted _everything_ trying to go back. I treated Christine so terribly I’m surprised she forgave me at all and I threw away money on experimental procedures that cost me even more motor function, until I wound up in Kathmandu with only the clothes on my back.”

Stephen tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “I’m lucky Mordo and the Ancient One took pity on me.”

Tony reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. “Think...good um...pity no,” Tony purses his lips and breathes deeply for a moment and Stephen waits. “You deserve good,” he finally says, clearly dissatisfied with what he’s managed. But it’s enough to make Stephen’s eyes burn.

“You do too,” he chokes out and Tony looks away in an attempt to hide the doubt on his face.

They both take a moment to collect themselves.

“Miss it?”

“Surgery?” Tony nods. “Every day,” Stephen sighs.

“Talk?”

Stephen is quiet for a long while. He’s never really tried to put it to words before.

“I should be happier, I think, with this. Magic allows me to reshape reality in some ways. It gives me...all this _power._ Creation, destruction, all at my fingertips with the proper knowledge. With a scalpel, I could only fix what had already been broken.”

Tony’s eyes fixed on his, listening intently, give him the courage to keep going.

“I think what I really miss is the discovery. Most everything in magic has been done once before. The knowledge is there to learn, but not to discover. If that makes any sense?”

Tony nods.

“Neuroscience was fascinating and ground-breaking. As much as I loved the thrill of surgery, it was combining it with neuroscience that really made it shine. Stimulating neurogenesis in the central nervous system. Fusing transected spinal cords. Christine and I once invented a laminectomy procedure!”

He laughs. Brokenly.

“God, I miss it. I discovered so much. Accomplished _so much._ It was so exciting and I could have done _so much more_. If only I hadn’t been a fool.”

The gentle squeeze on his arm draws him out of his painful reminiscing.

“I know,” Tony says simply. Stephen supposes he would. If anyone would understand, it would be the man who had been revolutionizing clean energy and the prosthetic industry and everything else he’d put his mind to. “Still save life.” He sounds so confident. So certain. It means more than he can say.

“Perhaps. I do my best.” He pats Tony’s hand where it rests on his arm.

“Sorry,” Tony says. He removes his hand from Stephen’s arm to fiddle with his own burnt and useless fingers.

Stephen takes a deep breath and reaches deep to steady himself.

“It’s alright,” he says once he’s staved off his own tears and can speak without his voice catching. “It’s good to talk about it, I think. Everyone seems to think that my ability to perform surgery was an equal trade for the magic, but as content as I am with this point in my life, I…” he trails off. He’s not sure there are words to describe what it’s like to wake up every morning and know you’ll never do the thing you’re most passionate about ever again.

“Not the same,” Tony finishes with a wry twist to his lips.

“No, it isn’t. Not that I want it to be, but-”

“Happy then. Purpose now.”

“I suppose so. Were you happy? Before Iron Man?”

“No.”

And that...well, that makes Stephen unaccountably sad.

“Maybe someday.”

“Yes. Maybe someday,” Tony repeats, eyes far away.

“For both of us,” Stephen sighs, watching the clouds pass.

Tony glances at him with a curious smile.

“Both of us…” he murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come in the future, but hopefully not too far into the future.  
> If you want, leave me a review telling me what you liked or didn't like! Or if you noticed some sort of error. Or if you just want to scream, that's cool too. I welcome screaming wholeheartedly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there's actually gonna be another chapter after this because really this is getting quite long. It's mostly finished and I plan to have it out before Endgame, so look forward to that! But until then, here's a little something to tide you over.  
> Also, I still haven't figured out how to add a link in here yet, but Codee21 has really been a fantastic beta through this whole thing. She's the best!

“Stephen.”

“Tony? Did you need something?” he asks, watching as Tony hovers in his doorway. His entire posture is defensive; hunched shoulders, arms wrapped around his own waist, glancing up at Stephen through his bangs (and really his hair was getting too long. Stephen ought to arrange for a haircut for him).

“Cold,” Tony mutters. Stephen frowns. Tony had taken to hoarding any blanket brought to him and apparently that still wasn’t helping. He has to wonder if the self-hugging wasn’t just defensiveness or insecurity or self-consolation like he’d thought. Maybe Christine was onto something.

Tony wavers on his feet for a moment before bracing a shoulder against the doorframe and Stephen has to very forcefully shove down the urge to go to him, well aware that Tony despised how weak he still felt. Then he realizes that there is one way he can make sure Tony doesn’t fall over and also help keep him warm. It takes little more than a subtle gesture to send the Cloak over to wrap around him.

That it goes willingly is a little more telling of the Cloak’s opinion on things.

“We could try a warming spell on some of your blankets?” he suggests, “If you’re not opposed.” Tony tends to have contradictory reactions to magic and Stephen has yet to be able to tell whether a spell will garner awe, horror, or indifference.

Tony shrugs. Wary willingness this time, it seems. He starts forward, gently resting a hand on Tony’s back and hooking the other beneath his elbow -- supporting him under the guise of a friendly escort. To Stephen’s surprise, Tony melts into the contact.

Stephen savors the moment while it lasts. The room he’s put Tony in is only next door -- all the better to monitor his patient -- but Tony is still unsteady on his feet and the walk takes longer than he really expects. And yet it’s no time at all before he’s carefully lowering Tony to sit at the edge of the bed.

It takes little focus to charm one of the blankets to radiate warmth after so much experience in winters past.

He’s not expecting Tony to drop it when he passes it to him.

“Tony?”

Tony tucks his right hand against himself. Protectively.

“Tony, are you alright?”

“Hot,” Tony replies, frowning down at the puddle of blanket he’s holding his feet away from.

Stephen frowns as well. Bends down to inspect it, but it’s just fine. Maybe a bit warmer than Tony would like? The spell _is_ tailored to Stephen’s own preference, after all.

He redoes the sigil for the spell with an alteration for a temperature a bit lower.

But Tony rejects it with the same insistence that it’s hot.

It’s...odd. Stephen adjusts the spell once more, for a temperature only a bit higher than the current room temperature.

And Tony thrusts it back at him. “Hot,” he insists.

Bizarre.

Tony had been fine with the blanket beforehand. He was fine with all of the blankets he’d gathered. Until Stephen had cast a spell on it. The only variable being magic.

Some sort of sensitivity, perhaps?

Stephen mutters something to Tony distractedly and heads to the library.

He plucks out a heavy tome that was enchanted to have a search function after one too many librarians became tired of trawling through its minuscule cursive for a single paragraph.

Plucks out another that had never been enchanted but had been with the Sanctum since its inception.

Then he heads to the kitchen, where Rhodey had left a book just that morning while they’d shared a breakfast.

He’s back to Tony’s room quickly, deposits the books separate from each other on a side table, and turns back to the bed.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” he remarks, pleasantly surprised that Tony didn’t wander off after him - as he had a tendency to do when Stephen would rather he stay put.

He ignores the bitchy look Tony gives him in response.

“Here touch this,” he says as he holds out Rhodey’s book. Tony looks at him as though he’s lost his mind, but lays a tentative hand on it anyway. “Hot or cold?”

“Cold?” Tony answers questioningly, undoubtedly wondering why a book would be hot. Or whether Stephen had finally lost it. Debatable, really.

So Stephen tosses it back to the table and retrieves the enchanted tome, holding it out much the same way. Tony touches only the tips of his fingers to it before pulling his hand back.

“Hot,” he declares, staring cautiously at the cracking cover.

Stephen nods. As he suspected. The final test, though, is the ancient book. Tony only taps it at first, as a test, before laying his hand down on it with a wondering expression.

“Warm,” Tony says, a smile teasing at his lips. Stephen allows him to take the book and rest it in his lap. Tony examines it for a moment before looking up at him inquiringly.

“Magic,” Stephen answers, laughing at the flat look Tony gives him in response. “No really! The book that was hot was enchanted with a search function because one of the previous librarians found the text tedious. The cold one is Rhodey’s - he forgot it here this morning after breakfast. He’s probably looking for it right now, actually. I remember he said he was at the good part. The last one,” he gestures at the book Tony holds, “has never had any spellwork done upon it, but has been with the New York Sanctum since it was built. Perhaps was even at Kamar-Taj beforehand.”

Tony waves his hand and widens his eyes, telling him to get on with it.

“The book has absorbed magic! Inactive, passive, magic. It’s hard to say with any sort of certainty, but I suspect the energy of the gauntlet, when you used it, quite literally robbed you of most of the energy in your body. You weren’t just tired and injured afterwards, you were _depleted._ ”

He’s excited, a bit. Theories race in his mind and he knows he’s right. Magic and medicine never seem to coincide in such an interesting way and he’s _fascinated_.

He doesn’t notice Tony’s eyes going distant.

“I knew bringing you here afterwards would be safest - the previous masters and I have this place warded heavily, you understand - but I had no idea…” he trails a bit, thinking, marveling, “I suspect bringing you here was the best possible decision we could have made. You were depleted of energy, and the latent energy of the Sanctum and the ley lines it was built upon healed you and restored your energy in a way that wouldn’t overload your system...Tony, are you alright?”

He’s plucking at the front of his borrowed shirt, fingers peeking through too-long sleeves in search of the arc reactor that isn’t there. Stephen has noticed he does it a lot when he’s anxious.

“It hurt,” Tony says faintly, “Gauntlet. Using, I mean.”

He’s quiet, but Stephen’s excitement from before is fading. He’s perfectly willing to wait for Tony.

“It hurt. After - so tired.”

Stephen lays a hand over Tony’s.

“I know. I know you were, Tony. I know you still are.”

Tony squeezes his hand, gently as ever.

“But now that we know, I can try to think of a way to assist as far as helping you keep warm and helping you...recharge, in a way.”

“Okay,” Tony says quietly.

Stephen wonders if, perhaps later on, Tony will describe to him what using the gauntlet felt like.

~~~~~~

He dreams of the garden that night. A dark, lightless night. No illumination but for snatches of moonlight escaping the grasp of the clouds.

He doesn’t want them. He doesn’t like to see himself in the bloodied rags of Afghanistan. Doesn’t want to look at the car battery clutched between his stomach and knees.

Doesn’t want to think about how it’s just not sustainable.

Overheating, low fluid, leaks, weak wires, inability to recharge, just to name a few things that could kill him.

He wonders why he doesn’t just pull the wires and be done with it.

A breeze rustles the leaves. He hears it wind its way around him. Around the garden walls. And another soft sound. A pattering, like footsteps. A red glow wisping up and curling in on itself at the edges of the walls.

He reminds himself that the garden is safe. He took out the door and grew another wall of bushes in its place years ago. His nightmares may rage at the walls and his emotions may sway the weather, but his demons can’t follow him in here.

No Howard or Obie or Thanos or Wanda.

No Mama or Pepper or Rhodey either.

But it was a price he’d pay to stay safe.

He didn’t know how he got into the garden. He just knew he was safe here. If only from everything but the weather.

He wondered about the battery though.

He’d never even had the arc reactor here before.

Its blue glow is soothing though. It drowns out the sight of the red.

~~~~~~

Tony wanders the Sanctum. His mind feels fuzzy and there’s a lingering feeling of distant sadness. He’s tired but he has more energy today than he has for a while and Stephen is out on wizard business.

The cabinets are dusty and the rooms that aren’t locked are empty. The library is cluttered and disorganized, and since Stephen told him Wong is Kamar-Taj’s librarian, Tony guesses Wong must not hang out here a lot.

The kitchen though.

The kitchen is _bare._

Tony purses his lips. This won’t do.

He pulls out the phone Pepper left him to look up the nearest grocery place and heads for the front door.

But when he gets there, he stops. His shaking left hand rests on the handle. He can’t quite catch his breath.

Is he really ready to go back out there?

To face all those people?

To be seen again after six months missing?

He thinks of a crush of people, shouting questions, demanding answers. Phones and flashes and noise noise noise.

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage, tells himself it’s best to just rip the bandaid off quickly. Might as well get it over with. Goes to open the door.

And pauses. Iron Man's first appearance back in public following Thanos's defeat can’t be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie he stole from a wizard's closet.

His fingers twist at the hem of his sleeve. The thought of leaving the comfort of softness swallowing him whole leaves his heart stuttering away in his chest, but there's no real alternative.

He needs to do this.

So he heads back upstairs to where he thinks Pepper might have left a suit packed in with all of the other things she packed him. And sure enough, there is one of his hanging in the closet Stephen has emptied for him to use. His old Tom Ford. Decent.

He trades his soft thick socks for a thin pair of dress socks. Pulls off his hoodie reluctantly to trade his ratty tee for an undershirt. He decides not to bother with shirt stays and pulls the sleeve of the button-up over his bad arm first.

Getting the other sleeve up takes longer than it used to, but he quickly discovers his real problem is the tiny buttons. His fingers keep slipping right as he gets one into its buttonhole. He tries to use his left hand to stabilize, but it gets in the way more than it helps. Frustration builds and builds until he gives up four buttons in, completely overwhelmed.

He tries to calm down and try again, but his skin crawls and his heart shivers and he just can’t. He just can’t do it.

And if he can’t do simple buttons, how will he ever build again?

Tony sits at the end of the bed. Tears stream down his face, shoulders shaking with silent, repressed sobs.

He can't even button a shirt.

Useless.

“Tony?”

Great. So great, that Stephen finds him like this. That Stephen always seems to see him at his most vulnerable. He must be so tired of dealing with Tony by now.

Hands settle oh so gently on his shoulders. He can't help but lean forward into the taller man and rest his forehead against his chest, his good hand coming up to clutch at the fabric at Stephen's waist. He can't deny how safe the sorcerer feels. So intelligent and powerful and capable. Stephen doesn't need anything from him. But he helps him anyway, with kindness and patience he doesn’t deserve.

“Do you need to go somewhere?” Stephen asks haltingly. Tony shakes his head and wishes the floor would swallow him.

“Do you want to?” and Tony shakes his head again. Not anymore. Not like this. He hadn't been thinking about his hand when he got the idea, but putting on a suit would put it on display. He'd always worn his scars with pride, but this… This was different. Everyone would see. And everyone would know. Iron Man wasn't invincible. And Tony Stark could no longer build. Couldn't even button up a damn shirt.

He wants the hoodie back on. Wants the softness. The warmth. Wants how big it is. The way the hem nearly goes to his knees and the sleeves fall over his hands.

“Medically, I wouldn't advise going out just yet anyway. You've still got a fair bit of healing to do. But you are healing. You’re getting stronger every day. It wasn’t so long ago you couldn’t even get out of bed.”

A weak sob bubbles out of him against his will.

One trembling hand moves from his shoulder to run briefly through his hair before pulling his head further into a firm chest.

“You're a fixer, Tony,” Stephen whispers fiercely into his hair from where he's curled around him. “This is just a new problem set that you'll have to find new solutions for. And one of those solutions can be asking for help. There are a lot of us who are perfectly happy to lend a hand where needed.”

And Tony can’t help a watery laugh. Lend a hand.

Stephen hums happily. “There we go,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.

Tony lets him help him back out of the shirt and back into the hoodie.

His original plan won't work. So he'll see if he can't get it done another way.

~~~~~~

As embarrassing as it is, Tony feels better after crying. At least for now. He's aware enough to know he's going to be feeling awful for a good long time, even if he can't remember a lot of things from the last few years.

The point, though, is that _right now_ he feels better. So he takes advantage of his good mood and gets FRIDAY to get him Wong’s email so he can ask about whether he’s able to bring a cleaning crew into the Sanctum. Because why stop with groceries? And then when Wong doesn’t answer him right away, has FRIDAY ring his phone until he does.

The answer is, unfortunately, a negative. At first, at least. Because Wong says no and goes on and on about how dangerous some of the artifacts in the Sanctum are. And then Tony badgers him back about just cordoning off areas containing dangerous artifacts. They proceed to argue back and forth until eventually coming to a compromise: the kitchen and bedrooms.

Tony decides to press his luck and upgrade the kitchen while he’s at it. He has FRIDAY put in rush orders on the appliances he’d stocked the compound’s kitchens with, except he tweaks it a bit to fit better with the more...antique...style of the Sanctum.

He makes sure everyone coming to the Sanctum is someone who already works for the compound and has thus been vetted thoroughly and then he subjects them to further NDAs. He makes sure the cleaners and the installers are set to arrive around the same time and are aware of each other.

Then he sets up a large order of groceries to be delivered later in the day. And finally, he asks Wong to get Stephen out of the house somehow.

So Wong does. Wong also promises Stephen to keep an eye on Tony and make sure he rests. Wong does not inform Tony of this turn of events. He merely settles Tony in the comfiest chair in the library for tea before anyone shows up and waits.

Tony falls asleep in that chair not ten minutes into tea. Understandable really. Wong pats himself on the back for a job well done and cordons off the library on his way to greet the cleaners.

Later, when Tony wakes, he is both grateful and furious with Wong. Because while it was his project and his responsibility and something he had wanted to do for Stephen, he also wasn’t ready to be around so many people - strangers - just yet.

So he grumbles and mutters and makes his displeasure clear as he starts puttering about and inspecting the work done. Wong is amused. Or stoic. It’s hard to tell, really. But he waits through Tony’s inspection and then leaves to him to his own devices once Tony proclaims it all good enough.

~~~~~~

It had been nice to run training sessions at Kamar-Taj for a day. Get back to his roots, so to speak. He’d been delayed further by Master Hamir, but the conversation had been stimulating and he’d lost all track of time debating the finer points of his idea for a magical shield around the planet.

Even as wonderful an evening as he’d had, though, he’s glad to be back home. Wong doesn’t greet him in the main hall, so he’s likely already left. The thought of Tony having been left alone makes him nervous even as he sternly reminds himself that not only is the Sanctum perfectly secure, but that Tony is a grown man who has _saved the universe._

Even if said grown man was weak and weary from energy depletion, was down an arm, had tried to leave the safety of the Sanctum the last time he’d been left alone, and wound up breaking down over his inability to button a shirt. Stephen knew the feeling well, but he didn’t like that Tony had been left alone. He knew well what it was like to be alone at home, incapable of doing something, dependent on another person who was away -- forced to wait for Christine to come by after work, exhausted herself. Only to be further exhausted by Stephen’s rage against his own incapability that got thrown at her.

Tony is much more gracious about things than he had ever been.

With a sigh, Stephen forces himself to go make a cup of tea before he goes to check on Tony - who is most likely _asleep_ and _perfectly safe_ \- like the paranoid, overprotective, lovestruck idiot he’s becoming.

And then he enters the kitchen to find his tea already made and Tony asleep at the table.

He can’t help a fond smile, however exasperated he might be feeling. He keeps telling Tony he shouldn’t be trying to move around so much just yet. Not that he’d expected Tony to listen.

It’s as he’s rounding the table to pick up his own mug that he realizes that it’s not just the tea.

Tony had cleaned the kitchen.

The counter is spotless. The cobwebs in the corners gone. The teacups in the sink resting in a drying rack he’s almost certain wasn’t there before.

And then he realizes that the fridge is not his fridge. The oven is different. They’re all new. There’s now a microwave and a dishwasher and a spare freezer.

Stephen smiles softly, fondly, down at the sleeping man; overwhelmed with a fierce love he’s not certain will ever be returned but is happy with nonetheless. Trembling hands brush dark bangs aside and Stephen presses a gentle kiss to Tony’s temple.

He’s grateful. Beyond grateful even. He’s not sure what he did to have gained such wonderfully kind friends after all of the terrible things that have happened.

He can hardly believe how happy and at peace he feels here and now; sitting beside the man who may very well be the love of his life and sipping tea said man made just for him.

He savors the peace. Eventually, though, the tea is gone and he has a genius to put into a proper bed. Maybe it’s wanting to prolong the moment, or maybe it’s love, or maybe his knowledge of Tony’s fear of portals, or perhaps all three that lead him to tuck Tony’s head into his neck and slide his arms beneath Tony’s back and knees and carry him oh-so-carefully upstairs.

~~~~~~

_Mr. Stark. I’m sorry..._

~~~~~~

He wakes up from another nightmare and the world feels too heavy right from the start. He manages to get up and shuffle his way to the bathroom to attend to his basic bodily functions and brush his teeth, but as he blearily looks at his own thin, worn face in the mirror, he is intensely aware of just how tired he feels.

Today is going to be a bad day.

So he shuffles right back into his bed.

When Stephen comes around for his daily physical therapy, Tony can only blink heavily at him. Stephen says something, but the words just don’t quite process. Tony doesn’t know how to tell Stephen that he just doesn’t have the energy today.

So he doesn’t tell Stephen anything. Just closes his eyes and lays there. Hears footsteps as Stephen leaves.

There’s a shift in the bed.

Then a line of warmth along his back.

Then, finally, a familiarly soothing rumble fills the air.

Tony feels a relief so strong he could cry.

Instead, he focuses on the presence behind him and does his best to relax and not think.

Before he knows it, he’s falling asleep with a final lingering sensation of fingers in his hair and a thumb stroking at his temple.

He doesn’t dream.

~~~~~~

 _‘He’s not broken,'_ she reminds herself. Over and over. A mantra without end.

 _‘And even if he were, they would not harm him,’_ she reminds herself. Again and again. So she does not forget.

He’s safe here.

 _She_ is safe here.

Her left hand seizes.

She tucks it at her side where he won’t see it.

“Hand,” Tony insists, holding out his own. He’s not even looking at her.

She rolls her eyes, but obliges. Sets her right hand in his.

He looks up at her with the most blandly exasperated expression she has ever seen anyone manage.

She tries to glare.

He raises one eyebrow.

Nebula groans, adjusts so she’s sitting in front of him instead of beside him, and gives him her metal hand.

He balances it on his left forearm and sets to pressing at her fingertips.

“Hurt?”

“Always.” She watches him carefully.

“Fix that,” he mutters to himself. “Unusual hurt though?”

“No.”

“Good, good. Delicate.” He flexes the palm a bit and once he’s satisfied with the lack of reaction, he moves on to the wrist. He starts with a simple back and forth motion. She notices nothing, but he frowns and tilts his head contemplatively.

“What is it?”

“Can, um, can, uh,” he grimaces and makes an open and shut motion with his fingers.

“Yes.”

She likes that he asks.

“Thank.” Tony shoves his glasses further up his nose and steals the tiny repair kit Nebula keeps stashed in her pant leg. He makes short work of prying away the thin protective outer layer of the wrist, then worms the screwdriver gently underneath delicate fibered alloys to get to the major mechanics at the interior.

“Hold, please.”

She takes the screwdriver from him carefully and holds it in place.

Then he takes the thin pair of tweezers and there’s a tug and a sense of fading discomfort. He taps around a bit more - testing, making sure everything else is in the right place - but he seems satisfied.

It’s as he’s closing her wrist back up that he tilts his head in a way she is all too familiar with.

Curiosity.

An idea even, perhaps.

“STEPHEN!”

Nebula flinches back.

There’s a crash and then the sorcerer comes skidding through the door with sparks at his fingertips. His casual wear is well-worn and his hair is wet. His socks have holes in the toes, she notes idly.

He seems displeased to learn there’s no danger. She likes him.

“Was it necessary to scream?” he drawls, coming over to them at a much less urgent pace.

“Hand!” Tony insists, taking one of the sorcerer’s now that her own hand has been taken from him. Strange allows it with a roll of his eyes.

Tony maneuvers Strange’s hand as gently as he had hers. Then snaps his fingers at the sorcerer and demands his tablet. Strange’s irritation at being a source of convenience is fond.

It reminds her of how Gamora was with that idiot Quill.

Nebula shakes her head. Best not to dwell on the past.

Tony’s pulling up holograms of her hand and Strange’s. Drawing connections between the two. New parts spiderwebbed over the flesh and blood one.

“Tony, I don’t want a prosthetic.”

Tony rolls his eyes and spins the hologram for the sorcerer to look at.

“Oh.”

“Build like Rhodey. Before but not have fine, uh,” Tony trails off and Nebula feels a new rage for Thanos for causing her friend to suffer even after death.

She doesn’t know what to do with rage anymore.

“Fine motor control, yes of course. Walking is much simpler than everything we do with our hands. So many components working complexly at such a small level...Even managing the bridge for his nervous system to brace his walking wouldn’t give you the kind of fine motor control you would need for hands.”

“Nebula good form. Nano for you like Rhodey. Maybe no shake? Or less hurting?”

“You’d have to figure out how to make it intuitive.”

“Can,” Tony says stubbornly.

“Well if anyone could, it would be you,” Strange says while not looking away. There’s a minute flush to his face.

Nebula makes a sound of disgust.

“But how will you build it?” Strange asks tentatively. He doesn’t look at Tony’s scorched hand.

“I’ll be his hands,” Nebula offers. It surprises even her.

“My hands,” Tony agrees cheerfully, pointing at her. She likes that he’s so frequently pleased to be around her.

There’s a tightness to his eyes though. A longing in his glance at the hologram.

She’ll ask him about replacing his own broken parts later.

~~~~~~

Tony sits and does his stretches as Stephen goes about his studies. Sometimes it seems like the sorcerer is always reading and studying. He wonders what Stephen does for fun. Or if he just thinks studying is fun.

But it’s peaceful and quiet and FRIDAY quietly runs a playlist she’s been curating that seems to relax the both of them.

Sometimes Stephen will hum along and sometimes FRIDAY will play with him by suddenly switching songs to see how quickly he can adjust. Often she’ll play one of Tony’s favorites to trick him into singing along, which usually goes better than attempting to talk and the success tends to put Tony in a good mood for the day.

Tony hesitates to say he enjoys this time, because the physical therapy honestly sucks and Stephen never fails to call him on it when he tries to skip an exercise or take it easy, but he honestly does feel content in these moments. He feels productive and he enjoys Stephen’s company and FRIDAY’s games. He likes that whenever he’s feeling twitchy and restless Stephen will read aloud from whatever he’s reading. And he knows that sometimes Stephen will botch a translation just to make him laugh.

Stephen Strange is just so deceptively kind. Tony recalls how he’d come off as stoic at first and then snarky and abrasive. There’d been a moment where he felt they connected though… But he can’t quite remember. He gets a sense of blue and he tries to trace his trail of thought but the memory fades. He remembers that feeling though. As though someone were actually listening to him. Had that been before they’d left Earth?

He glances up at Stephen, who is watching him with a calculating gaze.

“Alright?” the sorcerer asks and Tony realizes he’d stopped tugging on the resistance band at some point. He thinks for a moment, on whether he is alright or not, then nods and resumes his exercises.

Stephen hums but goes back to his reading.

Tony considers the gaps in his memory. Pepper and Rhodey seemed to think it was for the best - they were of the opinion that he didn’t need to actively remember all the trauma of what had happened. Stephen hadn’t been terribly concerned either after a few scans. He’d been of the same opinion as Pepper and Rhodey, and said as long as Tony remembered the general sequence of events, there was really no need to bring up specific details that would just traumatize him further.

He kind of hated that word. Traumatize. Regardless of how true it was. And he didn’t like that he couldn’t remember things. What if that detail ended up being important?

But Stephen’s friend, Christine, had caught him looking at suit footage trying to fill in the gaps back when Stephen had been gone and nearly torn him a new one. Talking about stressing his system and how he’d make himself worse. FRIDAY had really taken her words to heart. Bless his little girl for growing and learning to establish her own boundaries. Even if it was annoying.

So he did his best to breathe and focus on the burn in his arm and just let it go.

And if Stephen noticed that he was getting caught up in his own thoughts and started reading aloud to distract him? And if it worked?

Well. That was between them.

~~~~~~

He starts to think Thanos won’t go down. That it’s not possible.

There’s a flash.

He’s back in the cave. He’s blabbering at Yinsen. Panicking. Yinsen doesn’t understand that the Ten Rings are _nothing._

If he’s back here. If he’s really in the past. He can prepare. He can change things.

He could stop Thanos before anyone has to die.

But there’s work to do.

One step at a time Tony.

Maybe this is the chance Stephen bought him.

Not just the chance to fight Thanos again.

But again. And again. And again.

Until they win.

So he blasts out of that cave once more a thousand years ago.

Rhodey doesn’t get it.

Pepper doesn’t get it.

He locks up Obie. He power plays SHIELD and the WSC and the US government. He keeps Hammer shoved in a corner where he belongs and he does what he has to for Ivan Vanko to keep the man out of his way. He doesn’t even give Loki a chance. _Cognitive recalibration, right, Agent Romanoff?_

The scepter’s relocation away from SHIELD means no Wanda, but he has no intention of losing JARVIS or creating Ultron this time, so it’s a small loss.

He puts Rogers on the scent of the Winter Soldier and lets those cards fall as they may. He sends encrypted messages to Wakanda warning them to bolster their defenses, but is rebuffed by a witty and wildly intelligent child. He didn’t think they would believe him, but at least he tried.

Their so-called ‘Civil War’ doesn’t come to pass. He sets forth rules and validation processes and mission debriefings from the very start.

He builds and he builds and he builds.

And he keeps an eye on Stephen Strange.

There’s only the one. He’d never known he was a neurosurgeon. Can’t stop himself from reaching out even then. For collaboration. For someone to trade a witty rejoinder with.

He’s not surprised to be rejected.

He mourns the day the accident happens. Can recognize the superhero origin story from a mile away now. A month after the man leaves for Nepal, he starts leaving letters at the Sanctum. Nothing serious, nothing personal. He doesn’t know who reads them.

There’s a surge of energy in Hong Kong. Seems to be a fixed event.

Two months later, Stephen answers his letters.

They collaborate. They prepare.

Finally. Finally, someone understands.

Stephen is powerful.

Together they’re unstoppable.

Thanos comes.

Thanos loses.

The battlefield erupts in cheers.

The cheers ring harshly in his ears.

The world goes dark.

Illuminated by watery blue light.

Corpses surrounding him.

Them.

Thanos looms before him.

Reality, mind, and soul glitter.

~~~~~~

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Stephen grumbles sleepily as he stumbles through the door.

He lets out a quiet _oof_ as he flops down next to Tony and Tony finds it a little difficult to feel bad for waking him when he’s so warm.

Still, he mutters a sorry that Stephen waves away lazily.

“Just gonna lay there, huh?” Tony mumbles teasingly, feeling some victory at the full phrase.

“If I’m gonna come in here anyway, I might as well,” Stephen complains gravelly, shoving a pillow into compliance and stealing one of Tony’s numerous blankets. He doesn’t really mind at all with Stephen there to warm him up.

“Wanna sleep with me just say so.”

Stephen turns his head out of the pillow to fix him with a squinty, one-eyed glare. Tony grins. Stephen buries his face back into his stolen pillow and grumbles some more. It’s cute.

The night is quiet. Tony doesn’t even hear traffic outside. He guesses there must be a spell for soundproofing, even if there doesn’t seem to be one for climate control.

“Go back to sleep,” Stephen grumbles after a while. Tony thinks about it. Thinks about the warmth Stephen emanates that makes him feel safer and the dread that creeps up his spine at returning to the nightmares his memories create.

He created BARF because he thought facing the memories head on would help, but now he wonders if he wasn’t just wearing down his defenses. Shitty defenses. Unhealthy defenses. But defenses nonetheless. Because it all weighs so much now and what he has left is straining snapping fracturing under the pressure.

If only he could take just a little bit of time. To breathe. To rebuild.

But there’s no escaping his own head.

“Maybe,” Tony starts, not sure he wants what he’s about to suggest. But it may just be what he needs.

“Maybe you’ll sleep?” Stephen gripes through his pillow.

“Try dreamwalking?” Tony suggests and closes his eyes against the burn of uncertainty tightening his chest.

He feels Stephen sit up.

“Tony.” A clear demand for his attention. He bites his lip and opens his eyes to Stephen leaning over him, alert and awake and intense, backlit by moonlight and eyes glittering. And then Tony is nervous for a whole new reason.

_Oh no, he’s beautiful._

“Tony, are you sure?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Tony.”

“Yes! Tired, Stephen. Scared and cold and _tired._  Tired.”

Stephen’s expression softens.

“Alright. Now?”

“Please?”

“Alright.” Stephen waves a hand and lights a candle on the bedside table, then turns Tony onto his side so he’s facing the candle and curls up against his back.

“Uh, close?” Tony asks hesitantly, muscles stiff, kind of uncomfortable with Stephen’s proximity. What particular emotion he’s feeling, he’s uncertain.

“Relax. Watch the candle, but focus on me. You’re going to need to let me in. Breathe. Relax.”

Tony tries.

Stephen’s hands, normally comfortably warm, are like hot brands at every point they touch.

Tony’s not sure how he’ll fall asleep when he’s so hyper-aware of Stephen’s proximity.

But he watches the candle flicker and he breathes and Stephen doesn’t do anything but hold him. And as he gradually gets used to the feeling, he relaxes until everything is pleasant and floaty.

And he sleeps.

~~~~~~

The ballroom lights are dim on a champagne floor. Shadowed faces peering at him with empty eyes and starlight smiles.

Hands. So many hands on him. Every touch repulsive. Clawed fingers tugging at his arms and shrieking laughs ringing in his ears. His skin crawls. He wants to go home. He always wants to go home. But they just tug him further in and he has to smile smile smile.

Heavy hands on his shoulders and “that’s my boy”s and alcohol pressed into his hand over and over and over that he tries not to drink and it makes him so dizzy to be led around among unrecognizable shadows.

A warm hand at the small of his back makes him shiver and shake, but he’s scared to look to see who is touching him this time so he lets himself be led through parting shadows and whispers that tug at him and try to drag him backwards and take little pieces of him for themselves.

And then there’s the door. The hinges creak like they’re not supposed to at these kinds of things.

The lights are blinding.

He doesn’t hear the clicking and popping of cameras though.

Instead of a dark, writhing crowd of paparazzi, he opens his eyes to bright sunlight and sunflowers waving gently in a summer breeze.

Beside him, tall and elegant, is Stephen.

Stephen, with his kind eyes and his hidden smile.

Then there’s a warm hand in his, leading him into flowers taller than he’s ever seen.

He’s afraid. He can’t help the feeling that something will reach out and snatch him from Stephen’s careful grip.

But nothing comes. Even though he flinches every time a large leaf hits him or a wayward stem rasps against his leg.

In no time at all, they emerge from between the final sunflowers and he sees familiar flowering walls of gardenia and plumeria bushes. They seem so much more imposing from the outside of his garden.

And there’s a wooden door that wasn’t there before.

He looks askance at Stephen as they approach it, but Stephen only shrugs and knocks. Tony is surprised to see it swing open of its own accord.

He steps through and his tux changes to a comfortable cotton shirt and pants. He glances over and the wizard is back in robes - but lighter and more casual-looking than he’s ever seen him wear so far.

Stephen seems delighted at the sight of the peaceful little garden. He tugs Tony forward through the daffodils and tulips and Queen Anne’s lace, their hands still clasped together. Tony trips when his legs get tangled in the foxgloves, but he just uproots them and keeps going until they reach the bench under the heavy wisteria vines.

Tony sits down, but Stephen just stands beside him, holding his hand and looking at him strangely. Tony starts to get nervous, starts to stand up again, when one gentle hand reaches out to - Tony almost thinks he’s going to cup his cheek and his stomach flips, but no - pluck red and gold marigolds from his hair. They fall, one after the other, to the ground. To wilt and return to dust and take the weight of his grief with them.

And when he’s done, Stephen continues exploring and Tony feels like laughing as he watches him pluck yellow chrysanthemums, blue salvia, and toadflax from the ground before bringing his haul back with him.

They sit there in peace for a long while. Tony watches as those skilled, scarred fingers weave flowers together until eventually, he recognizes the flower crown they’re intended to be.

Stephen gifts him with a gentle smile once he’s finished. Gestures with the crown in his hands, asking for permission, so Tony ducks his head with a shy smile and Stephen sets it upon his head.

The smile Stephen is wearing when he looks back up is odd but charming. Tony can’t quite place the emotions in those intense blue eyes. They draw him in though and he’s overcome with a feeling that is somehow simultaneously like floating and falling.

He can’t help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you hoping for some more of Stephen, just wait for the next chapter. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, folks. It's finally done. Took me long enough, right? lol  
> But seriously, I really hope you guys enjoy. This chapter is a bit shorter than the ones before, but my dearest beta Codee21 (if this doesn't appear as a link I still have not figured out how to link) reassures me that it's good stuff.

“You’re looking better. More well rested,” Pepper mentions as she runs fingers through his hair. He rests his head against her shoulder as he pulls up their movie options on the tablet.

“Stephen does dream thing,” he says softly, cheeks flushing as he thinks of flowers and warm hands and kind smiles.

“He mentioned,” she says lightly. She appreciates that Stephen keeps her updated so it’s easier to maintain conversation with Tony. “Action movie?”

Tony wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. He’s had enough of explosions and fighting for a good long while.

“So the dream-walking is helping?”

“Think so.”

She hesitates ever so slightly before asking “Have you thought about going back to therapy?”

Tony’s fingers pause over the tablet screen with a barely discernible tremble. “Not...um, not-not...”

“Ready?” He nods. “Okay.” And then, “You know the dreamwalking isn’t a permanent solution, right?”

He nods again, jerkily.

“Okay.”

He’s glad she leaves it be.

Stephen pokes his head around the doorway.

“I’m leaving now. Thank you for staying with him, Pepper.”

Tony makes a face at the implication that he needs babysitting, but Pepper just waves cheerfully.

“I’ve got this one. You go save reality or whatever it is that needs your attention this time,” she laughs.

Stephen smiles and nods her way before glancing over at where Tony clings to Pepper’s side.

“Goodbye, Tony.” There’s something in his eyes that Tony can’t quite bear to face just yet. There’s a space of awkward silence where Tony merely taps at the tablet without looking at anyone before Stephen nods to himself and turns to sweep out of the room. The Cloak flares behind him just to show off.

“Be careful,” Tony blurts out. He doesn’t look up, so he misses the way Stephen’s eyes go soft and fond.

“I will,” he promises.

And then he’s gone and it’s just him and Pepper again.

“You’re being weird,” Pepper says after a while.

Tony focuses on the movie selection. Keeps scrolling. Horror is very definitely not happening.

“Weirder than usual, anyway. What’s up?”

His ears feel hot.

“Tony Stark, are you blushing?” Fuck.

He’d wanted to keep his crush to himself for at least a little while longer. It’s embarrassing how enamored he is with Stephen. Even with Pepper he’d never felt this kind of bashful adoration that fluttered oh so softly in his chest. With Pepper he’d had years of friendship and teasing that let him be bold.

Maybe that’s why Pepper is the perfect person to talk about this with.

“Like him,” Tony mutters shyly, plucking at Pepper’s sleeve.

She twists her hand into his to still his fidgeting and squeezes.

“I kind of figured you would,” she replies with a familiar teasing smile. “He’s just your type.”

Tony squints at her. “My type?”

“Leggy,” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows. She breaks into a fit of giggles when he takes his hand back to whack her arm.

He shoves the tablet at her.

“Pick.”

Pepper grins deviously.

“You may regret that.”

~~~~~~

She listens to Tony stumble along with the words of the movie and aches despite the smile she wears.

It's painful for her to see him stripped down like this. Vulnerable without his words in a way she rarely got to see back when he still could talk. Usually, it was one meaningful point mixed in with at least a half hour of chatter. But now the defensive quips and the barbed words and the veiled insults were gone.

She’s so glad he’s alive though.

It’s good pain.

~~~~~~

When Stephen comes back, Tony has tea ready. He appreciated the text Wong had sent him. Especially when he sees how pale Stephen is. How his hands shake more than usual. Tony frowns.

“Okay?” Tony asks, trying not to seem too worried. Trying not to seem too pushy.

“I’m fine,” Stephen says. He sounds tired. There’s a shake to his voice that Tony knows he’s not meant to notice. Stephen’s defenses are scrambling up in an instant, his calm stoicism sliding over his face and hiding everything but the stress in the crease of his brow.

Tony knows all about defenses like that. Knows what it’s like to be teetering on the edge and suffer a well-meaning push. So he doesn’t push.

“Thank you for the tea,” Stephen whispers as he sits, though he doesn’t reach for the cup. Instead, he hides his hands beneath the table.

“Not hurt?”

“Just tired. Maybe a little bruised.”

Tony stares intently at the steaming cup of tea.

He's not sure how best to help Stephen here. Should he leave? Leave him his dignity to drink with his shaky hands? Should he stay? Not leave him alone with whatever haunts his mind?

He doesn't know. So it's time to learn.

He elects to stay for at least a little while longer and takes a sip of his coffee.

In the past, he would have started up some distracting chatter. But that's not really possible right now.

“Did Pepper leave already?” Stephen asks. Tony catches the Cloak inching towards the cup.

“Yeah.”

“What did you watch?”

Tony covered his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear that,” Stephen says leadingly, and Tony is gratified to see a teasing smile when he peers out from between his fingers.

“Al-Abra...with genie. You know.”

“Aladdin?” Stephen asks with a disbelieving grin. The Cloak starts vibrating, which may very well be the weirdest thing Tony has seen it do so far.

“Pepper,” Tony accuses.

“Suuure,” Stephen drawls. His hands come up out of hiding, finally. One to brace his chin on and one to pick at the edge of his teacup. He’s full-on grinning now. “Are you sure you didn’t just miss me?”

Tony rolls his eyes dramatically.

“The flying carpet is the Cloak’s favorite character,” Stephen says lightly, ignoring the way the Cloak squeezes his shoulders and begins gesturing insensibly.

“Figures. Very, uh, character.”

“You’d make a lovely Jasmine, I suppose,” Stephen says as Tony is mid-sip.

Tony chokes on his coffee.

Levels Stephen with his best glare after he regains his composure.

The Cloak gives Tony a thumbs-up behind Stephen’s head.

Tony resolves to stick with his favorite sorcerer today and do his best to cheer him up.

Even if it’s at his own expense.

~~~~~~

_Dormammu-_

_Dorma-_

_Dormammu, I’ve co-_

_Dormammu-_

_I’ve co-_

_I’ve-_

_I-_

_I’ve come to-_

_I’ve come to bargain._

_I’ve come to bargain._

_Dormammu._

_Oh god, please make it stop._

~~~~~~

The floorboards creak, which is weirdly uncommon in the old house, and it startles Tony awake.

Through the darkness, he can just barely make out Stephen hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“Stephen?” he calls out blearily.

“Can I just- stay here for a moment?”

Tony takes just a moment to observe Stephen, pale as a ghost in the moonlight, wringing his hands in a way that will surely hurt later.

“Okay. Alright?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Stephen climbs into the bed with him slowly. Carefully. Quietly.

They lay side by side in a silence Tony is hesitant to break.

“I don’t think I can do it again,” Stephen finally says, the words whispered and terrified.

Tony wants to ask what, but he knows that here it’s best to be silent. To let Stephen talk. He wants to listen, too. He wants to be someone Stephen can confide in. Can feel safe confiding in. Even if Tony hates to see him like this.

“I just. I know what I do is important. But I can’t- I’m so _tired,_ Tony.”

Tony grabs one violently trembling hand. Holds it as gently as he can.

“I don’t know-” he swallows heavily, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I don’t know how much longer I can- I can keep-” His breath starts to come faster and Tony has to stop this.

Tony scoots across the small amount of space between them and very carefully draws him into a hug.

Stephen presses a strangled sob into his shoulder and feels fractured. He allows no more sobs to pass his lips. Breathes heavily and so loudly that each breath might as well be a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers tearfully, even as he allows no tears to fall.

“No, no don’t,” Tony tries to shush him, hands going to cup at Stephen’s face.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tony frantically tries to console him with nonsense noises as Stephen’s tears finally start to fall.

“You’ve suffered so much. I should be _better-_ I shouldn’t burden you with-”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not-!”

“Is,” Tony insists.

“It’s all just so much. Over and over.”

“I know.”

Things are quiet for a long while. Tony strokes a thumb across Stephen’s cheek soothingly, wiping away tears from closed eyes.

“Tell me?” he prompts as gently as he possibly can.

“I was helping another dimension today. Some entities displaced by- by everything. Dormammu was there. Possessing some poor soul. I forgot-” Tony hushes him as he chokes on a whimper. “I forgot that it was only Earth I barred him from,” he finishes faintly.

Tony doesn’t know who or what Dormammu is, but he hates them. He hates them for hurting Stephen like this.

“Stay?”

Stephen looks down.

“I won’t be getting back to sleep. I don’t want to disturb you,” he murmurs. Tony feels his resolve harden.

“Stay.”

Stephen looks him in the eye.

“Okay.”

Tony tucks Stephen up against him and listens to him breathe shakily.

Neither of them are going be able to rest like this.

“Dream with me?” Tony suggests. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to do the reverse, but it’s worth the suggestion.

“Are you alright with that?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep you safe,” Tony murmurs into Stephen’s hair.

_“Thank you,”_ Stephen whispers emphatically.

~~~~~~

There’s a sound like shattering glass. A scream of bad metal.

A scream, human and strangled and awful.

It’s like a bad trip - purple and neon lights and giant eyes and an impending feeling of doom.

Everything is somehow crystal clear yet warping around him.

And then there’s Stephen.

He’s gotten too used to seeing Stephen in the Sanctum. It’s jarring to see him now as he first met him - in full sorcerer regalia, bloodied and lit with power. His expression wavers between terrifying and terrified.

Tony picks his way through an ever-shifting battlefield of flying projectiles. Something round and fuzzy-looking floats past his face. He does his best not to think about it.

Instead, he waits between one horrifying scenario and the next and reaches out to pull Stephen away from this loop he seems to have trapped himself in. Stephen’s mouth moves and the colors around them waver unpleasantly. There’s a sensation of pressure but it’s like living on mute. He grabs Stephen by the hand and he _pulls._

They fall.

Trippy purple changes to bright sky blue and petals fly into the air around them as Tony hits the ground and Stephen falls on top of him in an awkward sprawl.

Stephen gets up onto his elbows and peers down at Tony. Tony’s going to blame the fall for how breathless he is. It’s definitely not because Stephen’s face is so close to his. It’s definitely not because he’s been thinking about kissing Stephen.

Okay, so maybe he’s been thinking it a little. It’s not his fault Stephen is so goddamn handsome.

Up close though, he can see that Stephen looks tired and stressed and vaguely unhappy.

So Tony tugs him back down. Holds him to his chest in a loose hug, in case Stephen isn’t up for physical contact. And as Stephen slowly begins to relax, Tony starts running a hand through his hair. Small, soothing strokes near the nape of his neck that make Stephen hum.

Stephen’s warm weight on top of him makes him feel like he’s melting into the ground. He plucks starflowers from nearby and idly tucks them into Stephen’s hair. Makes a game of seeing how many he can fit in before they start falling out and remembers his mother’s lessons on flower meanings.

Whether they stay like that for hours or only long peaceful minutes, Tony can’t tell. But it hardly matters within a dream.

He wonders if it could always be like this with Stephen.

He hopes Stephen likes it as much as he does.

And he thinks, going by the way Stephen breathes deeply and evenly against his chest, that it helps.

~~~~~~

He’s looking at the schematics he’s drawn up for the braces for Stephen’s hands. Pointedly ignoring the schematics for a prosthetic that Rhodey and Nebula made for him. It’s been days and he still doesn’t know how he feels about it.

If he does replace his arm, there are so many things he won’t get to experience with it. He won’t get to feel his way through inconsistencies in his tech. He’ll never test metal by running his fingers across it. He won’t be able to tell there’s a loose connection by getting zapped when he digs around in wiring. He’ll have to relearn how metal bends to his strength.

But if he doesn’t…

Well, he’ll never do those things again anyway.

It should be an obvious choice.

But he thinks about how the arc reactor used to sit in his sternum. How nanotech seems to hold his chest together now. How every time his body fails him, he just replaces it with more metal and wires.

He thinks about how he aches so fiercely on rainy days and he shivers so violently in the winter.

He thinks about Extremis.

He thinks about the consequences of being so much more than human.

How far is too far?

How much can he replace until nothing real of him is left?

He can’t quite get the braces for Stephen to be reactive enough. Intuitive enough. He doesn’t know where he’s going wrong.

It’s like he’s fighting through a haze just to think about any of this and it’s so hard.

He can do better. He _knows_ he can do better.

Why the fuck would anyone want him around when he can’t even do the things he’s good at anymore?

He throws the tablet at the wall.

It doesn’t shatter. Of course, it doesn’t. He built it.

But he stares hatefully at it and wishes not for the first time that he wasn’t so goddamn exceptional.

Stephen rounds the doorway rapidly, as Tony knew he would.

“Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Why?” Tony rasps, head bowed.

“Pardon?”

“Why do you care? Why-” Tony growls with frustration, tugging at his hair when the words he wants to say won’t come. He _hates_ this. He practices and practices and practices and he barely gets out one whole sentence! And that’s just when he _wants_ to talk. When he doesn’t want to, the words seem impossible.

“Why would I care about you when you don’t perceive yourself as worthy of that care?” Stephen asks lowly, eyes intense and glittering with something that makes Tony inexplicably nervous. Tony can’t hide how his own hands shake when Stephen takes them in his.

“You stood by my side _fourteen million times_ , Tony. You told me to do whatever I needed to do over _fourteen million times._  You backed my play every. Single. Time.” Stephen looked at where he held Tony's hands in his own. “That's not insignificant.”

“And failed in most!”

“But not in the one that mattered, Tony. And failure in the face of impossible odds can hardly change my opinion of you.”

“But-”

“No,” he says emphatically with a shake of his head. “No, Tony. I can’t begin to express how much I adore you. The you I fought beside fourteen million times and the you I’ve come to know over the last several months.” His eyes widen with what Tony thinks is surprise. He hadn’t meant to say that, clearly.

“Adore?” Tony whispers shakily, tearfully. Stephen smiles, though it seems tinged with sadness.

“Yes. Of course. I don’t know how anyone couldn’t,” he confesses, “But please don’t worry about it. I don’t expect anything from you. I’m quite content with your friendship.”

Tony doesn’t know how to tell Stephen that all he’s wanted for years is for someone to love him without expectation.

He doesn’t know how to tell Stephen that he thinks he might love him too.

But he wonders if maybe he just wore Stephen down. If it’s like Stockholm Syndrome and Stephen only loves him because Stephen has spent so much time with him. Fourteen million failed realities, five months of a comatose companion, and now all this time Stephen has spent helping him.

Except they aren’t captor and captive. Tony’s not dependent on Stephen nor the other way around. Stephen doesn’t need Tony for anything. He doesn’t need his fortune or his fame. Tony could go get another doctor easily. The magic would be tricky, but he’d manage somehow. He always has.

And Pepper and Rhodey like the both of them and they’re the best judges of character Tony has ever known. And he doesn’t think Wong dislikes him. He’s hard to read, but he helped Tony out. Nebula likes the both of them too and she’d definitely know if something was messed up, right?

Stephen smiles sadly, and that’s when Tony realizes he’s been silent too long. Tony can’t get any words out and Stephen turns away and goes to pick up his poor tablet.

Even if he could get the words out though, he doesn’t know what he would say.

But Stephen moves slowly. Tony can practically see the sorrow dripping off him, causing his shoulders to droop.

“I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Stephen says softly, brushing his hands along the screen as though checking for cracks. Very deliberately not facing Tony.

Tony doesn’t know how to fix this either.

But he has to try.

So when Stephen turns back around and moves to set the tablet on the bed beside him, Tony takes it from his grasp instead. He thinks Stephen knows what that means. Still, he has to get the words out.

“I’m...I might, uh, I think,” he bites his lip. His heart races. He can’t get the words out in time. Stephen will leave and he’ll lose his chance.

Stephen waits though. Patient eyes watching him. Listening to him. Like always.

He’s not good enough for this man. But he’s never been good at denying himself what he wants.

“Like...you.” Lackluster. Not his best work. Certainly not the romantic declaration he’d hope for.

But it would have to be enough.

He thinks it might be as he watches the barest hint of a smile twitch at the corners of Stephen’s lips and hope ignite in his eyes.

“Really?”

Tony nods.

Stephen lifts a hand to hesitantly brush his fingertips against Tony’s cheek and Tony can’t help but flush and duck his head nervously.

“Are you - sure me? Sure, uh, like me? Not just I’m here?”

Stephen’s eyes go soft.

“Oh, Tony. You have no idea how wonderful you are to me, do you? How much you’ve been helping me. How much happier I am in your company. I like when you laugh and when you sing and when you get an idea. When you conspire with Wong or the Cloak against me. When I have a bad day and you do your best to cheer me up.”

“Oh good.”

Stephen laughs.

“Good.”

He presses his forehead to Tony’s, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

“Let’s take things slowly, alright? There’s no rush and we deserve it,” Stephen murmurs.

“Yeah,” Tony answers weakly, caught in Stephen’s eyes.

~~~~~~

They’re sitting together looking out the window again one day when Stephen breaks the peaceful quiet.

“I’d like to kiss you. Someday. If you’re alright with that.”

“Okay,” Tony says, so simply. As though there aren’t a dozen butterflies taking up residence in his stomach.

“Okay?” Stephen asks with the beginnings of a disbelieving smile.

“Yes. Now?” He’s had time to think about Stephen’s confession. Had time to think about how much he likes the idea of them.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t flinch when Stephen reaches out with trembling fingers to stroke along his temple and cup his cheek. His eyes slip closed on a view of blue eyes as Stephen’s lips press ever so gently to his. There’s barely any pressure. No expectation. It’s done within the space of a skipped heartbeat.

It feels like a hello.

_Hello, I’m here._

_Hello, I love you._

_Hello, I’ll wait for you._

He doesn’t expect it to be so eye-opening.

He _loves_ Stephen.

He _wants_ this.

He wants to make tea for Stephen when he gets back from his latest magical excursion. He wants to sit quietly together on rainy days. He wants Stephen’s face to be what he sees when he wakes from a nightmare and he wants to hold Stephen when Stephen has his own nightmares.

He’s so tired of being hurt and Stephen treats him so gently without pitying him or talking down to him and Tony is _weak._  He wants it. He wants everything Stephen is willing to give him.

And it’s easy.

It’s so easy to just lean against his side and watch the stars fade and the sky turn pink through the window.

It’s so easy to reach out and hold his hand.

Stephen lifts his hand to press his lips to Tony’s knuckles. Undemanding. Understanding. He can’t help but to relax even further.

“You know, I think you just might be the strongest person I know,” Stephen says quietly, as though those words don’t mean the world to Tony.

They watch the sun rise on a grateful universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Worth it?


End file.
